VAL. Oh, why would Angelica be absent from my eyes so long?
JERE. She’s here, sir.
MRS. FORE. Now, sister.
MRS. FRAIL. O Lord, what must I say?
SCAN. Humour him, madam, by all means.
VAL. Where is she? Oh, I see her—she comes, like riches, health, and liberty at once, to a despairing, starving, and abandoned wretch. Oh, welcome, welcome.
MRS. FRAIL. How d’ye, sir? Can I serve you?
VAL. Harkee; I have a secret to tell you: Endymion and the moon shall meet us upon Mount Latmos, and we’ll be married in the dead of night. But say not a word. Hymen shall put his torch into a dark lanthorn, that it may be secret; and Juno shall give her peacock poppy-water, that he may fold his ogling tail, and Argus’s hundred eyes be shut, ha! Nobody shall know but Jeremy.
MRS. FRAIL. No, no, we’ll keep it secret, it shall be done presently.
VAL. The sooner the better. Jeremy, come hither—closer—that none may overhear us. Jeremy, I can tell you news: Angelica is turned nun, and I am turning friar, and yet we’ll marry one another in spite of the pope. Get me a cowl and beads, that I may play my part,—for she’ll meet me two hours hence in black and white, and a long veil to cover the project, and we won’t see one another’s faces, till we have done something to be ashamed of; and then we’ll blush once for all.