Flo. Stand fair, mother—
Cel. What, with your hat on? Lie thou there;—and thou, too—
[Plucks off her hat and peruke, and discovers FLORIMEL.
All. Florimel!
Flo. My kind mistresses, how sorry I am, I can do you no further service! I think I had best resign you to Celadon, to make amends for me.
Cel. Lord! what a misfortune it was, ladies, that the gentleman could not hold forth to you?
Olin. We have lost Celadon too.
Mel. Come away; this is past enduring. [Exeunt MEL. and OLIN.
Sab. Well, if ever I believe a man to be a man, for the sake of a peruke and feather again.—
Flo. Come, Celadon, shall we make accounts even? Lord! what a hanging-look was there? indeed, if you had been recreant to your mistress, or had forsworn your love, that sinner's face had been but decent; but, for the virtuous, the innocent, the constant Celadon!