Wor. Withdraw! Oons! sir, what d'ye mean by withdraw?
Brazen. I'll show you.
[Exit.
Wor. She's lost, irrecoverably lost, and Plume's advice has ruined me. 'Sdeath! why should I, that knew her haughty spirit, be ruled by a man that's a stranger to her pride?
Enter Plume.
Plume. Ha! ha! ha! a battle royal! Don't frown so, man; she's your own, I'll tell you: I saw the fury of her love in the extremity of her passion. The wildness of her anger is a certain sign that she loves you to madness. That rogue, Kite, began the battle with abundance of conduct, and will bring you off victorious, my life on't: he plays his part admirably.
Wor. But what could be the meaning of Brazen's familiarity with her?
Plume. You are no logician, if you pretend to draw consequences from the actions of fools—Whim, unaccountable whim, hurries them on, like a man drunk with brandy before ten o'clock in the morning——But we lose our sport; Kite has opened above an hour ago: let's away.
[Exeunt.