Sir H. Wheresoever love is, there music is proper.
Lady L. But, Sir Harry, what tempest drives you here at this hour?
Sir H. No tempest, madam, but love madam.
[Wildair taking her by the Hand.
Lady L. As pure and white as angels' soft desires.
Sir H. Fierce, as when ripe consenting beauty fires.
Lady L. [Aside.] If this be a love token, [Wildair drops a ring, she takes it up.] your mistress's favours hang very loose about you, sir.
Sir H. I can't, justly, madam, pay your trouble of taking it up, by any thing but desiring you to wear it.
Lady L. You gentlemen have the cunningest ways of playing the fool, and are so industrious in your profuseness. Speak seriously, am I beholden to chance or design for this ring?
Sir H. To design, upon my honour. And I hope my design will succeed. [Aside.