Volume Iv Part 10 (1/2)

_Maun._ Lord, how he's swoln! see how his Stomach struts.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, 'tis true, though I perceive it not.

_Maun._ Not perceive it, Sir! put on your Clothes and be convinc'd,--try 'em, Sir.

[She pulls off his Gown, and puts on his Doublet and Coat, which come not near by a handful or more.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, it needs not,--mercy upon me!-- [Falls back.

I'm lost, I'm gone! Oh Man, what art thou but a Flower? I am poison'd, this talking Lady's Breath's infectious; methought I felt the Contagion steal into my Heart; send for my Physicians, and if I die I'll swear she's my Murderer: oh, see, see, how my trembling increases, oh, hold my Limbs, I die.--

Enter _Roger_ with a magnifying Gla.s.s, shews him the Gla.s.s; he looks in it.

_Rog._ I'll warrant I'll shew his Face as big as a Bushel. [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, oh,--I'm a dead Man, have me to Bed, I die away, undress me instantly, send for my Physicians, I'm poison'd, my Bowels burn, I have within an _aetna_, my Brains run round, Nature within me reels.

[They carry him out in a Chair.

_Wit._ And all the drunken Universe does run on Wheels, ha, ha, ha.

Ah, my dear Creature, how finely thou hast brought him to his Journy's end!

L. _Fan._ There was no other way but this to have secur'd my Happiness with thee; there needs no more than that you come anon to the Garden Back-gate, where you shall find admittance;--Sir _Patient_ is like to lie alone to night.

_Wit._ Till then 'twill be a thousand Ages.

L. _Fan._ At Games of Love Husbands to cheat is fair, 'Tis the Gallant we play with on the square.

[Exeunt severally.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

_Scene draws off to a room in Sir _Patient Fancy's_ house, and discovers Lady _Knowell_, _Isabella_, _Lucretia_, _Lodwick_, _Leander_, _Wittmore_, Sir _Credulous_, other Men and Women, as going to dance._

L. _Kno._ Come, one Dance more, and then I think we shall have sufficiently teaz'd the Alderman, and 'twill be time to part.--Sir _Credulous_, where's your Mistress?

Sir _Cred._ Within a Mile of an Oak, dear Madam, I'll warrant you.--Well, I protest and vow, sweet Lady, you dance most n.o.bly,--Why, you dance--like--like a--like a hasty Pudding, before _Jove_.

[They dance some Antick, or Rustick Antick. _Lodwick_ speaking to _Isabella_.

SONG made by a Gentleman.

_Sitting by yonder River side, _Parthenia_ thus to _Cloe_ cry'd, Whilst from the fair Nymph's Eyes apace Another Stream o'er-flow'd her beauteous Face; Ah happy Nymph, said she, that can So little value that false Creature, Man._

_Oft the perfidious things will cry, Alas they burn, they bleed, they die; But if they're absent half a Day, Nay, let 'em be but one poor Hour away, No more they die, no more complain, But like unconstant Wretches live again._

_Lod._ Well, have you consider'd of that Business yet, _Isabella_?