Spr. Will! why what the Devil does he mean, seriously I can’t find it out?
Ara. Why, Sir, he’s gone to fight.
Spr. How fight, Madam! On my Soul then I believe Friendly’s Second.
Ara. You’re in the right, he is so, and I am lost for ever!
Cla. O foolish Friendly, this thy Mistake has made me the most wretched of Woman-kind! Such variety of Thoughts load my afflicted Breast, that I know not what to think: I rave, am mad, not knowing what my Folly may produce; I fear for both, for both my Heart does bleed.
Ara. Miserable Maid! nay, miserable Wife! but much more miserable Widow! O my dear Bonvile!
Spr. Duce take me, if e’re I saw a Company so Phlegmatick in all my Life: Mr. Venter, prethee let’s have a Song, to pass away the Time, and put Life into the Bride.
Mr. Ven. With all my Heart, Mr. Spruce: Here, who waits?—Call in the Musick, and desire ’em to oblige the Ladies with a new Song.
[Servant Enter and Exit.]
Cla. Your self, Sir, you mean?
Spr. Nay all of us I protest.