me.

_Cel_. Lord! what a misfortune it was, ladies, that the gentleman
could not hold forth to you?

_Olin_. We have lost Celadon too.

_Mel_. Come away; this is past enduring. [_Exeunt_ MEL.
_and_ OLIN.

_Sab_. Well, if ever I believe a man to be a man, for the sake of
a peruke and feather again.--

_Flo_. Come, Celadon, shall we make accounts even? Lord! what
a hanging-look was there? indeed, if you had been recreant to your
mistress, or had forsworn your love, that sinner's face had been but
decent; but, for the virtuous, the innocent, the constant Celadon!

_Cel_. This is not very heroic in you now, to insult over a
man in his misfortunes; but take heed, you have robb'd me of my two
mistresses; I shall grow desperately constant, and all the tempest of
my love will fall upon your head: I shall so pay you!--

_Flo_. Who, you pay me! you are a bankrupt, cast beyond all
possibility of recovery.

_Cel_. If I am a bankrupt, I'll be a very honest one; when I
cannot pay my debts, at least I'll give you up the possession of my
body.

_Flo_. No, I'll deal better with you; since you are unable to
pay, I'll give in your bond.

_Enter_ PHILOCLES _with a commanders staff in his hand,
attended_.

_Phil_. Cousin, I am sorry I must take you from your company
about an earnest business.

_Flo_. There needs no excuse, my lord; we had despatched our
affairs, and were just parting.

_Cel_. Will you be going, sir? sweet sir,--damn'd sir!--I have
but one word more to say to you.

_Flo_. As I am a man of honour, I'll wait on you some other time.

_Cel_. By these breeches,--

_Flo_. Which, if I marry you, I am resolved to wear; put that
into our bargain, and so adieu, sir.

[_Exit_ FLO.

_Phil_. Hark you, cousin,--[_They whisper_. You'll see it
exactly executed; I rely upon you.

_Cel_. I shall not fail, my lord; may the conclusion of it prove
happy to you. [_Exit_ CEL.

PHILOCLES _solus_.

Wheree'er I cast about my wandering eyes,
Greatness lies ready in some shape to tempt me.
The royal furniture in every room,
The guards, and the huge waving crowds of people,
All waiting for a sight of that fair queen,
Who makes a present of her love to me:
Now tell me, Stoick!
If all these with a wish might be made thine,
Would'st thou not truck thy ragged virtue for 'em?
If glory was a bait, that angels swallow'd,
How then should souls allied to sense resist it?

_Enter_ CANDIOPE.

Ah poor Candiope! I pity her,
B