Lady. Well, Sir Rowland, you have the way,—you are no novice in the labyrinth of love—you have the clue—But as I am a person, Sir Rowland, you must not attribute my yielding to any sinister appetite, or indigestion of widow-hood; nor impute my complacency to any lethargy of continence—I hope you do not think me prone to any iteration of nuptials—

Wait. Far be it from me—

Lady. If you do, I protest I must recede—or think that I have made a prostitution of decorums, but in the vehemence of compassion, and to save the life of a person of so much importance—

Wait. I esteem it so—

Lady. Or else you wrong my condescension—

Wait. I do not. I do not—

Lady. Indeed you do.

Wait. I do not, fair shrine of virtue.

Lady. If you think the least scruple of carnality was an ingredient—

Wait. Dear madam, no. You are all camphire and frankincense, all chastity and odour.

Lady. Or that—

SCENE XIII

[To them] Foible.

Foib. Madam, the dancers are ready, and there’s one with a letter, who must deliver it into your own hands.

Lady. Sir Rowland, will you give me leave? Think favourably, judge candidly, and conclude you have found a person who would suffer racks in honour’s cause, dear Sir Rowland, and will wait on you incessantly.

SCENE XIV

Waitwell, Foible.

Wait. Fie, fie!—What a slavery have I undergone; spouse, hast thou any cordial, I want spirits.

Foib. What a washy rogue art thou, to pant thus for a quarter of an hour’s lying and swearing to a fine lady?

Wait. O, she is the antidote to desire. Spouse, thou wilt fare the worse for’t—I shall have no appetite to iteration of nuptials this eight and forty hours—By this hand I’d rather be a chairman in the dog-days, than act Sir Rowland ’till this time to-morrow.

SCENE XV

[To them] Lady with a letter.