Per. Indeed, sir!
Best have a care.

Sir P. Nay, so I will.

Per. This knight,
I may not lose him, for my mirth, till night.

Mos. Where, sir?

Volp. Not without;
Those blows were nothing: I could bear them ever.
But angry Cupid, bolting from her eyes,
Hath shot himself into me like a flame;
Where, now, he flings about his burning heat,
As in a furnace an ambitious fire,
Whose vent is stopt. The fight is all within me.
I cannot live, except thou help me, Mosca;
My liver melts, and I, without the hope
Of some soft air, from her refreshing breath,
Am but a heap of cinders.

Mos. ’Las, good sir,
Would you had never seen her!

Volp. Nay, would thou
Had’st never told me of her!

Mos. Sir, ’tis true;
I do confess I was unfortunate,
And you unhappy: but I’m bound in conscience,
No less than duty, to effect my best
To your release of torment, and I will, sir.

Volp. Dear Mosca, shall I hope?

Mos. Sir, more than dear,
I will not bid you to despair of aught
Within a human compass.

Volp. O, there spoke
My better angel. Mosca, take my keys,
Gold, plate, and jewels, all’s at thy devotion;
Employ them how thou wilt; nay, coin me too:
So thou, in this, but crown my longings, Mosca.

Mos. Use but your patience.

Volp. So I have.

Mos. I doubt not
To bring success to your desires.

Volp. Nay, then,
I not repent me of my late disguise.

Mos. If you can horn him, sir, you need not.

Volp. True:
Besides, I never meant him for my heir.—
Is not the colour of my beard and eyebrows
To make me known?

Mos. No jot.

Volp. I did it well.

Mos. So well, would I could follow you in mine,
With half the happiness!—and yet I would
Escape your epilogue.

[Aside.