_Lean._ It may be so, but what will all this serve for?
_Lucr._ To give us time and opportunity to deceive her, or I’m mistaken.
_Lean._ I cannot teach my Tongue so much Deceit.
_Lucr._ You may be a Fool, and cry, Indeed forsooth I cannot love, for alas I have lost my Heart, and am unworthy of your proffer’d Blessings--do, and see her marry me in spite to this Fop _Easy_, this Knight of Nonsense: no, no, dissemble me handsomely and like a Gentleman, and then expect your good Fortune.
_Lucr._ Away then, she must not see us together, she thinks you gone.
_Lean._ But must I carry off no Comfort with me?
_Lucr._ Will you expose me to the incens’d Jealousy of a Parent? go, or I shall hate ye. [Thrusts him out.
Enter _Maundy_ by dark: Opens the Garden-Door.
_Maun._ Now am I return’d to my old Trade again, fetch and carry my Lady’s Lovers; I was afraid when she had been married, these Night-works wou’d have ended; but to say truth, there’s a Conscience to be used in all things, and there’s no reason she should languish with an old Man when a Young Man may be had.--The Door opens, he’s come.--
I see you’re a punctual Lover, Sir, pray follow me as softly as you can.
_Lod._ This is some one whom I perceive _Isabella_ has made the Confident to our Amours.
SCENE IV. _Draws off, and discovers L. _Fancy_ in her Night-gown, in a Chamber as by the dark._
L. _Fan._ Oh, the agreeable Confusion of a Lover high with expectation of the approaching Bliss! What Tremblings between Joy and Fear possess me? All my whole Soul is taken up with _Wittmore_; I’ve no Ideas, no Thoughts but of _Wittmore_, and sure my Tongue can speak no other Language, but his Name.--Who’s there?
_Maun._ Madam, ‘tis I, and your expected Lover here--I put him into your hands, and will wait your Commands in the next Chamber. [Exit _Maun._
_Lod._ Where are you, my dearest Creature?
L. _Fan._ Here--give me your Hand, I’ll lead you to those Joys we both so long have sigh’d for.
_Lod._ Hah! to Joys; sure she doth but dally with me. [Aside.
_Lod._ And yet, why this Admission, and i’ th’ dark too, if she design’d me none but virtuous Favours?--What damn’d Temptation’s this?
L. _Fan._ Are you bewitch’d? what is’t that frights you?
_Lod._ I’m fix’d: Death, was ever such a Lover? Just ready for the highest Joys of Love, And like a bashful Girl restrain’d by Fear Of an insuing Infamy--I hate to cuckold my own Expectations.