Volume Iv Part 14 (2/2)

SCENE VIII. The Garden, _Wittmore_, _f.a.n.n.y_, and _Isabella_.

_Isab._ How, Mr. _Fainlove_, it cannot be.

_Fan._ Indeed, Sister, 'tis the same, for all he talks so; and he told me his coming was but to try your Virtue only.

Enter _Lodwick_ and _Maundy_ as pa.s.sing over, but stand.

_Isab._ That _Fainlove_! whom I am so soon to marry! and but this day courted me in another Dialect!

_Wit._ That was my Policy, Madam, to pa.s.s upon your Father with. But I'm a Man that knows the value of the Fair, and saw Charms of Beauty and of Wit in you, that taught me to know the way to your Heart was to appear my self, which now I do. Why did you leave me so unkindly but now?

_Lod._ Hah, what's this? whilst I was grafting Horns on another's Head, some kind Friend was doing that good Office for me.

_Maun._ Sure 'tis _Wittmore_!--oh that Dissembler--this was his Plot upon my Lady, to gain time with _Isabella_.

[Aside.

_Wit._ And being so near my Happiness, can you blame me, if I made a trial whether your Virtue were agreeable to your Beauty, great, and to be equally ador'd?

_Lod._ Death, I've heard enough to forfeit all my Patience!--Draw, Sir, and make a trial of your Courage too.--

_Wit._ Hah, what desperate Fool art thou? [Draws.

_Lod._ One that will see thee fairly d.a.m.n'd, e'er yield his Interest up in _Isabella_--oh thou false Woman!

[They fight out, _Isabella_, _f.a.n.n.y_, and _Maundy_ run off.

SCENE IX. _Changes to the long Street, a Pageant of an Elephant coming from the farther end with Sir _Credulous_ on it, and several others playing on strange confused Instruments._

Sir _Cred._ This sure is extraordinary, or the Devil's in't, and I'll ne'er trust Serenade more.

[Come forward, and all play again.

--Hold, hold, now for the Song, which because I wou'd have most deliciously and melodiously sung, I'll sing my self; look ye,--hum--hum.--

Sir _Credulous_ should have sung.

_Thou Grief of my Heart, and thou Pearl of my Eyes, D'on thy Flannel Petticoat quickly, and rise; And from thy resplendent Window discover A Face that wou'd mortify any young Lover: For I, like great _Jove_ transformed, do wooe, And am amorous Owl, to wit to wooe, to wit to wooe.

A Lover, Ads Zoz, is a sort of a Tool That of all Things you best may compare to an Owl: For in some dark Shades he delights still to sit, And all the Night long he crys wo to wit.

Then rise, my bright _Cloris_, and d'on on slip shoe: And hear thy amorous Owl chant, wit to wooe, wit to wooe._

--Well, this won't do, for I perceive no Window open, nor Lady bright appear, to talk obligingly:--perhaps the Song does not please her: you Ballad-singers, have you no good Songs of another fas.h.i.+on?

_1 Man._ Yes, Sir, Several, _Robin--Hark how the Waters fall, fall, fall!_

Sir _Cred._ How, Man! Zoz, remove us farther off, for fear of wetting.

_1 Man._ No, no, Sir, I only gave my Fellow a hint of an excellent Ballad that begins--_Ill-wedded Joys, how quickly do you fade!_ [Sings.

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