O. Bell. Adod, a pretty business, and very merry.

Sir Fop. Hark you, Medley, let you and I take the fiddles, and go waken Dorimant.

Med. We shall do him a courtesy, if it be as I guess. For after the fatigue of this night, he’ll quickly have his bellyful, and be glad of an occasion to cry: Take away, Handy.

Y. Bell. I’ll go with you, and there we’ll consult about affairs, Medley.

O. Bell. [looks at his watch]. Adod, ’tis six o’clock.

Sir Fop. Let’s away then.

O. Bell. Mr. Medley, my sister tells me you are an honest man, and, adod, I love you. Few words and hearty—that’s the way with old Harry, old Harry.

Sir Fop. Light your flambeaux. Hey!

O. Bell. What does the man mean?

Med. ’Tis day, Sir Fopling.

Sir Fop. No matter. Our serenade will look the greater.

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE II.—DORIMANT’S Lodging. A table, a candle, a toilet, etc. HANDY tying up linen

Enter DORIMANT in his gown, and BELINDA.

Dor. Why will you be gone so soon?

Bel. Why did you stay out so late?

Dor. Call a chair, Handy.

[Exit HANDY. What makes you tremble so?

Bel. I have a thousand fears about me. Have I not been seen, think you?

Dor. By nobody but myself and trusty Handy.

Bel. Where are all your people?

Dor. I have dispersed ’em on sleeveless errands. What does that sigh mean?

Bel. Can you be so unkind to ask me?—Well—[Sighs.] were it to do again—

Dor. We should do it, should we not?

Bel. I think we should; the wickeder man you to make me love so well. Will you be discreet now?

Dor. I will.

Bel. You cannot.