Pleas. Why should my mother be so inquisitive about this lodger? I half suspect old Eve herself has a mind to be nibbling at the pippin. He makes love to one of them, I am confident; it may be to both; for, methinks, I should have done so, if I had been a man; but the damned petticoats have perverted me to honesty, and therefore I have a grudge to him for the privilege of his sex. He shuns me, too, and that vexes me; for, though I would deny him, I scorn he should not think me worth a civil question.
Re-enter Woodall, with Tricksy, Mrs Brainsick, Judith, and Music.
Mrs Brain. Come, your works, your works; they shall have the approbation of Mrs Pleasance.
Trick. No more apologies; give Judith the words, she sings at sight.
Jud. I'll try my skill.
A SONG FROM THE ITALIAN.
By a dismal cypress lying,
Damon cried, all pale and dying,—
Kind is death, that ends my pain,
But cruel she I loved in vain.