Oron. [Walking to and fro.] She's the Devil——and I'm one of the damn'd, I think. But I'll make somebody howl for't; I will so.
Dor. You'll e'en do as all the young Fellows in the Town do, spoil your own Sport: Ah——had young Mens Shoulders but old Courtiers Heads upon 'em, what a delicious Time wou'd they have on't! For shame, be wise; for your Mistress's sake at least use some Caution.
Oron. For her sake I'll respect, even like a Deity, her Father. He shall strike me, he shall tread upon me, and find me humbler even than a crawling Worm, for I'll not turn again; but for Esop, that unfinish'd Lump, that Chaos of Humanity, I'll use him——nay, expect it, for I'll do it——the first Moment that I'll see him, I'll——
Dor. Not challenge him, I hope——'Twould be a pretty sight, truly, to see Esop drawn up in Battalia! Fye for shame, be wise once in your Life; think of gaining Time, by putting off the Marriage for a Day or two, and not of waging War with a Pigmy. Yonder's the old Gentleman walking by himself in the Gallery; go and wheedle him, you know his weak side; he's good-natur'd in the bottom. Stir up his old fatherly Bowels a little, I'll warrant you'll move him at last: go, get you gone, and play your Part discreetly.
Oron. Well, I'll try; but if Words won't do with one, Blows shall with t'other; by Heavens, they shall.
[Exit. Oron.
Doris sola.
Nay, I reckon we shall have rare work on't bye and bye. Shield us, kind Heaven! what Things are Men in love? Now they are Stocks and Stones; then they are Fire and Quick-silver; first whining and crying, then swearing and damning: This Moment they are in Love, and next Moment they are out of Love: Ah—cou'd we but live without 'em—but 'tis in vain to think on't.
[Exit.