Rho. Dear Palamede, I am sorry we shall not have one course together at the herd; but I find your game lies single: Good fortune to you with your mistress.
[Exit.
Pala. He has wished me good fortune with his wife; there's no sin in this then, there's fair leave given. Well, I must go visit the sick; I cannot resist the temptations of my charity. O what a difference will she find betwixt a dull resty husband and a quick vigorous lover! He sets out like a carrier's horse, plodding on, because he knows he must, with the bells of matrimony chiming so melancholy about his neck, in pain till he's at his journey's end; and, despairing to get thither, he is fain to fortify imagination with the thoughts of another woman: I take heat after heat, like a well-breathed courser, and—But hark, what noise is that? Swords! [Clashing of swords within.] Nay, then, have with you.
[Exit Pala.
Re-enter Palamede, with Rhodophil; and Doralice in man's habit.
Rho. Friend, your relief was very timely, otherwise I had been oppressed.
Pala. What was the quarrel?
Rho. What I did was in rescue of this youth.
Pala. What cause could he give them?
Dor. The cause was nothing but only the common cause of fighting in masquerades: They were drunk, as I was sober.
Rho. Have they not hurt you?
Dor. No; but I am exceeding ill with the fright on't.