Enter Berinthia.

Ber. What makes you look so thoughtful, sir? I hope you are not ill.

Love. I was debating, madam, whether I was so or not, and that was it which made me look so thoughtful.

Ber. Is it then so hard a matter to decide? I thought all people were acquainted with their own bodies, though few people know their own minds.

Love. What if the distemper I suspect be in the mind?

Ber. Why then I’ll undertake to prescribe you a cure.

Love. Alas! you undertake you know not what.

Ber. So far at least, then, you allow me to be a physician.

Love. Nay, I’ll allow you to be so yet further; for I have reason to believe, should I put myself into your hands, you would increase my distemper.

Ber. How?

Love. Oh, you might betray me to my wife.

Ber. And so lose all my practice.

Love. Will you then keep my secret?

Ber. I will.

Love. Well—but swear it.

Ber. I swear by woman.

Love. Nay, that’s swearing by my deity; swear by your own, and I shall believe you.

Ber. Well then, I swear by man!

Love. I’m satisfied. Now hear my symptoms, and give me your advice. The first were these; when I saw you at the play, a random glance you threw at first alarmed me. I could not turn my eyes from whence the danger came—I gazed upon you till my heart began to pant—nay, even now, on your approaching me, my illness is so increased that if you do not help me I shall, whilst you look on, consume to ashes.

[Takes her hand.

Ber. O Lord, let me go! ’tis the plague, and we shall be infected.

[Breaking from him.

Love. Then we’ll die together, my charming angel.

Ber. O Gad! the devil’s in you! Lord, let me go!—here’s somebody coming.

Re-enter Servant.

Ser. Sir, my lady’s come home, and desires to speak with you.

Love. Tell her I’m coming.—[Exit Servant.] But before I go, one glass of nectar to drink her health.