Smith. Yes, faith, so it might be very easy.
Bayes. Nay, if I do not make all things easy, egad, I'll give you leave to hang me. Now you would think that he's going out of town: but you shall see how prettily I have contriv'd to stop him presently.
Smith. By my troth, sir, you have so amaz'd me, that I know not what to think.
Enter Parthenope.
Vols. Bless me! how frail are all my best resolves!
How, in a moment, is my purpose chang'd!
Too soon I thought myself secure from love.
Fair madam, give me leave to ask her name,[29]
Who does so gently rob me of my fame: