Flo. What's the matter?
Cel. Do you not see? here's a poor gentlewoman in a swoon! (Swoon away.) I have been rubbing her this half hour, and cannot bring her to her senses.
Flo. Alas! how came she so?
Cel. Oh barbarous! do you stay to ask questions? run, for charity.
Flo. Help, help! alas! poor lady—[Exit FLO.
Sab. Is she gone?
Cel. Ay, thanks be to my wit, that helped me at a pinch; I thank heaven, I never pumpt for a lye in all my life yet.
Sab. I am afraid you love her, Celadon!
Cel. Only as a civil acquaintance, or so; but, however, to avoid slander, you had best be gone before she comes again.
Sab. I can find a tongue as well as she.