Dor. Come joy on all sides;
Heaven will not suffer honest men to perish.
Clea. Be proud of such a friend.
Dor. Forgive me, Madam,
It was a grief might have concern'd you near too.
Clea. No work of excellence but still Lisander,
Go thy waies, Worthy.
Olin. We'l be merry too,
Were I to speak again, I would be wiser.
[Ex. Manent Cal. Clarin.
Cal. Too much of this rare cordial makes me sick,
However I obey you.
Clarin. Now or never is an apt time to move her, Madam.
Cal. Who's that?
Clarin. Your servant, I would speak with your Ladyship.