Grati.
See there he sits in yonder fragrant Bower,
Where spreading Woodbines, ripen'd by the Sun,
Forbid the Sun to enter—like to Favourites
Made proud by Princes, who advance their Pride
Against that Power that rais'd it.

Jocu.

Ay, he's close in his Covert, we'll give the Fox his Pennyworth.—But let us go a little nearer tho', that he may lose none of the Bait.

Bell.

What was you saying to me this Morning, my Lord, that the Lady Liberia had an Affection for Lord Protheus?

Grati.

I was saying so, my Lord.

Bell.

I never thought that Lady would have been fond of any Man.

Grati.

Nor I neither, but 'tis most wonderful that she should so dote on this Protheus, whom she has always seem'd to hold in contempt—but that she does dote on him most excessively is certain.

Proth.

Is it possible! sits the Wind in that Corner?

Bell.

Perhaps she only counterfeits a Passion.

Jocu.

Like enough, I'gad.

Grati.

There was never Counterfeit came so near the Life then.

Bell.

What Marks doth she shew of it?

Jocu.

Bait the Hook well—the Gudgeon will bite, I see that.

Grati.

What Marks, my Lord? Why, she will sit you, she will sit you—You heard my Daughter say how, Joculo.

Jocu.

Ay, so I did, indeed, I shall never forget it—She'll be up twenty Times a Night, and there will she sit, without any Clothes on, 'till she have wrote a whole Sheet of Paper.

Grati.

Ay, my Daughter told us all.

Jocu.

When she comes to read it over she finds Protheus' Name in ev'ry Line; then she tears it into a thousand Pieces, and rails at her self in such a manner—What, says she, shall I who have encounter'd him so long with Scorn fall in love with him at last!—I measure him, says she, by my own Spirit; for if he was to grow fond of me I should trample over him to the Grave; nay, tho' I love him I should, and he would as certainly serve me the same.

Bell.

You astonish me; I thought her Heart had been invincible.

Jocu.

After this down she falls upon her Knees, sighs, sobs, beats her Breast, tears her Hair, prays, cries—Heav'n give me Patience! O sweet Protheus!

Grati.

She doth indeed, and her Extasy carries her sometimes so far that my Daughter is afraid what the Consequence may be.

Proth.

I should think this a Gull now, but that the white-bearded Fellow speaks it—Knavery cannot sure hide it self in so much Reverence.

Bell.

I think Lord Protheus should be made acquainted with it for fear of any bad Event.

Jocu.

O lack-a-day, my Lord, he'd only make a Jest of it if he was, and torment the poor Creature worse.

Bell.

Why then it would be a Merit to hang the Rogue; such an excellent Girl as that is.

Jocu.

She's a little Cabinet of Perfections; fair, young, prudent, virtuous, genteel, good-natur'd, chearful, witty and wise.

Grati.

Wise in every thing, but loving this Protheus.

Bell.

O, my Lord, Wisdom and Blood combating in so youthful a Breast we have ten Proofs to one that Blood gets the Victory—However let us tell Protheus of it, and see how he'll behave.

Grati.

Should we, think you?

Jocu.

No, I think not, no by no means, no—for I'm certain she would die sooner than let her Affection be known to him, or than bate a Breath of her usual Rallery at him.

Bell.

That's well judg'd—for if she was to give the least way, that Lord has such a haughty insolent Spirit, he would use her with Contempt for it.

Grati.

'Tis a pity, for the Man has a great many valuable Accomplishments.

Jocu.

Yes, a jolly graceful Man, and very valiant, I assure you—Nay, and wife too, as you may see in his Management of Quarrels; for he either avoids 'em with great Discretion, or undertakes 'em with a prudent Fear.

Proth.

Soh, Soh! how finely I am decypher'd by this Rascal.

Grati.

However let us say nothing to him of this Affair, let her even try to wear it out.

Jocu.

Ah poor Soul! that's impossible—she'll wear her Heart out first.

Grati.

Well, we'll hear farther of it; let it rest for the present. Come, my Lord, shall we walk?

Jocu.

If he does not dote on her by this time I'll consent to be skinn'd.

Grati.

The same Net must be spread for her which your Mistress, Delia, and your self, Joculo, must manage: The Diversion will be when they hold an Opinion of one another's Affection—that's the Scene that I would see—Come, let's be gone, and give him a breathing time.

Jocu.

He's full up to the Chin, half choak'd I'll engage for him.

Enter PROTHEUS.

Proth.

This can be no Trick, the Conference was seriously born, and they have the Truth of it from Lucilia. Love me! why it must be requited; I hear how I'm censur'd: They say I'll behave proudly if I perceive her Inclinations; they say too that she'll rather die than give any Sign of her Affection—I did never think to marry—I must not seem proud—Happy are they that hear their Faults, and put 'em to mending—They say the Lady's fair—'tis a Truth; and virtuous—she is so; and wise, but for loving me—By my Troth that's no Addition to her Wisdom, nor any great Argument of her Folly, for I'll be horribly in love with her. I may chance to have some odd Quirps and Remnants of Wit broken on me, because I have rail'd at Matrimony so long; but shall Quirps and Sentences, and those Paper-Bullets of the Brain frighten a Man from his Humour? No, the World must be peopl'd: When I said I would die a Batchelor I did not think I should live 'till I were marry'd. O here comes Liberia, by this Light she's a beautiful Lady—I spy some Marks of Love in her already.

Lib.

What alone in Contemplation, Lord Protheus?

Proth.

Yes, Fair Lady.

Lib.

The Banquet is ready yonder, and they wait for you; you'll make better use of your Time if you'll go there.

Proth.

Fair Lady, I thank you for the Pains you have taken to give me that Information.

Lib.

I took no more Pains for those Thanks than you took Pains to thank me: If it had been painful I would not have done it.

Proth.

You took Pleasure then, sweet Liberia, in doing it, I hope.

Lib.

Just as much as you may take upon a Knife's Point, and choke a Daw withal.

Proth. [Aside.]

Hum—there's a double Meaning in what she says: I took no more Pains for those Thanks than you took Pains to thank me—That's so much as to say any Pains that I take for you is as easy as Thanks.—I'll try her a little farther.

Lib.

Well, your Servant, my Lord.

Proth.

Why in so much Haste, sweet Lady, can't you throw away a few of your cheerful Moments on me?

Lib.

Hey! what does the Man mean? [Aside.] What was that you was saying, my Lord?

Proth.

I should be glad methinks to know, Madam, upon what Account your Ladyship's Rallery on me has been so exceedingly tart of late; sure, fair Lady, I am not deserving of such Treatment.

Lib.

Sir!—The Man's turn'd Fool sure.

Proth.

You find nothing in my Person I hope, Liberia.

Lib.

Oh no, nothing at all—but Faults from Head to Foot.

Proth.

What my Leg's too big, I'll warrant.

Lib.

No, 'tis too little.

Proth.

As to my Face.

Lib.

Oh, 'tis a mighty fair one.

Proth.

Nay, there you're out, Liberia, for 'tis a black one, I'll be sworn. But Pearls indeed are fair, and 'tis an old Saying, that black Men are Pearls in beauteous Ladies Sight—But you can find no Fault with my Eyes, I presume.

Lib.

Oh, my Lord, there's no objecting to them, they are so violently bright—that I could never bear to look at 'em.

Proth.

A crafty Gipsy! she's playing her Part, and endeavours to conceal her Affection from me—However, fair Lady, I hope my Discourse is agreeable to you.

Lib.

Your Discourse—um—Why, but very indifferent when you talk of War.

Proth.

But much so when I discourse of Love, my fair one.

Lib.

Ay—but much more so when you hold your Tongue.

Proth. [Aside.]

Lying Wanton—As to my Valour you can make no doubt of that, Lady?

Lib.

None at all—for I know it to be Cowardise.

Proth. [Aside.]

This is nothing but Artifice, and convinces me more than any thing that what I overheard is true. But then as to my Possessions—them you don't consider, Liberia.

Lib.

Ay, but I do tho' and pity 'em too.

Proth.

Why so, fair Lady?

Lib.

Because they've got such a scurvy Owner—And so farewel, Sir—and thank Heav'n you have one Friend in the World that's honest enough to let you know what you are.

Proth.

What am I to think of this now! 'Tis but an indifferent Mark of her liking me that she finds nothing in me but what she dislikes—But hold, I'm mistaken there—Women are never particular in publickly railing at a Man, unless they have a private Inclination for him—Right! 'tis therefore neither more nor less than flat raving Love of my Person. Ay, her Passion for me appears in ev'ry Look and Word—If I do not take Pity of thee I'm a Villain, if I do not love thee I'm a Jew.