_Cap_. By no meanes, Mr. _Engin_; that gentleman loves you not. Come, ile bring up the rere. Where's _Thomas_?
[_Exeunt Underwit, Captain, Courtwell and Engine_.
_Tho_. Ile follow, sir.--I would give my fower marks a yeare that I could talke like that mad gentleman. Hee's here and there and everywhere. How will his tongue run when his Coggs are oild; theile drench him! [_Exit_.
_Fra_. Although I mist a happines, I applaud Your nimble wit that securd both our honours. You have an excellent Instrument too o' your gentlewoman.
_La_. Oh she deliver'd to the life how you Were troubled with the Stone. At first I did Beleev't my selfe, and thinke of the sad consequence. But tyme is pretious now: although our Starres Have not been yet propitious to our meeting Ile try my art to night to make 'em shine. With happie influence on our Loves.
_La_. Ile not engage Your visit to my chamber, since the first Prov'd so unfortunate, but come to youres.
_Fra_. This night? wonot your husband be at home.
_La_. Without witchcraft, sir, I have a stratageme to delude my husband And all his jealous waking eyes, a plott That cannot faile if you dare but expect me.
_Fra_. I grow immortall with my hopes and fancie More than the worlds most pretious Empire in Our first embrace. I should runne back into An Infant once agen, and by degrees And tyme grow up to meet so vast a happines. Ages in expectation spent were poore And easy sufferings weigh'd against this triumph! Methinkes I am not man but something of A more exalted essence: humane nature Hath not capacity to understand And owne theis spatious blessings.
_La_. No more rapture; But with the confidence of a lover spread Your equall thoughts, and in your heart and armes Prepare an entertainement for that guest That hath no life or name but what you give. A kisse! and leave our soules to thinke upon The joyes this night attend us.
_Fra_. Sullen day, Do not tire now; tis downehill all the way.
[_Captain,[261] Underwit, Courtwell and Musicians, discovered in the Tavern_.]
_Capt_. Come, my _Apollos_, my _Orpheuses_ or my _Bacchus_ his Minst[rels], which, to leave poeticall expressions, in broader phrase is Taverne fidlers, some of your new tunes, my Masters; doe you heare?