Maid. Here they are, madam.
Sylv. Let them down, and be sure, when it comes to trial, to pull lustily. Is Will the footman ready?
Will. [Within] At your ladyship's command, madam.
Sylv. I wonder he should stay so long; the clock has struck twelve.
Enter Courtine, singing.
And was she not frank and free,
And was she not kind to me,
To lock up her cat in her cupboard,
And give her key to me, to me?
To lock up her cat in her cupboard,
And give her key to me?
Sylv. This must be he: ay, 'tis he, and, as I am a virgin, roaring drunk; but, if I find not a way to make him sober—
Cour. Here, here's the window: ay, that's hell-door, and my damnation's in the inside. Sylvia, Sylvia, Sylvia! dear imp of Satan, appear to thy servant.
Sylv. Who calls on Sylvia in this dead of night,
When rest is wanting to her longing eyes?