Cel. Nay, good my dear.
[He lays hold of her to pull her back, she lays hold of OLINDA, by whom SABINA holds; so that, he pulling, they all come in.
Flo. Are these your comrades? [Sings.] 'Tis Strephon calls, what would my love? Why do you not roar out, like a great bass-viol, Come follow to the myrtle-grove.—Pray, sir, which of these fair ladies is it, for whom you were to do the courtesy? for it were unconscionable to leave you to them both:—What, a mans but a man, you know.
Olin. The gentleman may find an owner.
Sab. Though not of you.
Flo. Pray, agree whose the lost sheep is, and take him.
Cel. 'Slife, they'll cry me anon, and tell my marks.
Flo. Troth, I pity your highness there; I perceive he has left you for the little one: Methinks he should have been afraid to break his neck, when he fell so high as from you to her.
Sab. Well, my drolling lady, I may be even with you.
Flo. Not this ten years, by the growth, yet.