n a sudden,
And all my rage is gone: like losing gamesters,
Who fret and storm, and swear at little losses;
But, when they see all hope of fortune vanished,
Submit, and gain a temper by their ruin.

_Hip_. Would you could cast this love, which troubles you,
Out of your mind!

_Gons_. I cannot, boy; but since
Her brother, with intent to cozen me,
Made me the promise of his best assistance,
I'll take some course to be revenged of him.

[_Is going out_.

But stay--I charge thee, boy, discover not
To any, who I am.

_Hip_. Alas, I cannot, sir; I know you not.

_Gons_. Why, there's it; I am mad again; Oh love!

_Hip_. Oh love! [_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.

_Enter two Servants of Don_ RODORICK'S, _placing
chairs, and talking as they place them_.

_1 Serv_. Make ready quickly there; Don Manuel
And his fair sister, that must be our lady,
Are coming in.

_2 Serv_. They have been long expected;
'Tis evening now, and the canonic hours
For marriage are past.

_1 Serv_. The nearer bedtime,
The better still; my lord will not defer it:
He swears, the clergy are no fit judges
Of our necessities.

_2 Serv_. Where is my lord?

_1 Serv_. Gone out to meet his bride.

_2 Serv_. I wonder that my lady Angelina
Went not with him; she's to be married too.

_1 Serv_. I do not think she fancies much the man:
Only, to make the reconcilement perfect
Betwixt the families, she's passive in it;
The choice being but her brother's, not her own.

_2 Serv_. Troth, were't my case, I cared not who
chose for me.

_1 Serv_. Nor I; 'twould save the process of a tedious
passion,
A long law-suit of love, which quite consumes
An honest lover, ere he gets possession:
I would come plump, and fresh, and all my self,
Served up to my bride's bed like a fat fowl,
Before the frost of love had nipped me through.
I look on wives as on good dull companions,
For elder brothers to sleep out their time with;
All, we can hope for in the marriage-bed,
Is but to take our rest; and what care I,
Who lays my pillow for me?

_Enter a Poet with verses_.

_1 Serv_. Now, what's your business, friend?

_Poet_. An epithalamium, to the noble bridegrooms.

_1 Serv_. Let me see; what's here? as I live,
[_Takes it_.
Nothing but downright bawdry: Sirrah, rascal,
Is this an age for ribaldry in verse;
When every gentleman in town speaks it
With so much better grace, than thou canst write it?
I'll beat thee with a stave of thy own rhymes.

_Poet_.