you must know, my Rhetorick Master,--I say, my Rhetorick Master,
who was--

_Lucr._ As great a Coxcomb as your self;--pray leave me, I am
serious--I must go seek out _Lodwick_.

Sir _Cred._ Leave ye! I thank you for that, i'faith, before I have spoke
out my Speech; therefore I say, Divine Lady--because my Rhetorick Master
commanded the frequent use of _Hypallages_, _Allegories_, and the
richest Figures of that beauteous Art,--because my Rhetorick--

_Lucr._ I must leave the Fool, follow if you dare, for I have no leisure
to attend your Nonsense.
[Goes out.

Enter Lady _Knowell_.

L. _Kno._ What, alone, Sir _Credulous_? I left you with _Lucretia_.

Sir _Cred._ _Lucretia!_ I'm sure she makes a very _Tarquinius Sextus_ of
me, and all about this Serenade,--I protest and vow, incomparable Lady,
I had begun the sweetest Speech to her--though I say't, such Flowers of
Rhetorick--'twou'd have been the very Nosegay of Eloquence, so it wou'd;
and like an ungrateful illiterate Woman as she is, she left me in the
very middle on't, so snuffy I'll warrant.

L. _Kno._ Be not discourag'd, Sir, I'll adapt her to a reconciliation:
Lovers must sometimes expect these little _Belli fugaces_; the
_Grecians_ therefore truly named Love _Glucupicros Eros_.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, bright Lady, I am as little discourag'd as another, but
I'm sorry I gave so extraordinary a Serenade to so little purpose.

L. _Kno._ Name it no more, 'twas only a Gallantry mistaken; but I'll
accelerate your Felicity, and to morrow shall conclude the great
dispute, since there is such Volubility and Vicissitude in mundane
Affairs.
[Goes out.

Enter _Lodwick_, stays Sir _Credulous_ as he is going out the
other way.

_Lod._ Sir _Credulous_, whither away so fast?

Sir _Cred._ Zoz, what a Question's there? dost not know I am to unty the
Virgin Zone to morrow, that is, barter Maiden-heads with thy Sister,
that is, to be married to her, Man, and I must to _Lincolns-Inn_ to my
Counsel about it?

_Lod._ My Sister just now told me of it; but, Sir, you must not stir.

Sir _Cred._ Why, what's the matter?

_Lod._ Have you made your Will?

Sir _Cred._ My Will! no, why my Will, Man?

_Lod._ Then, for the good of your Friends and Posterity, stir not from
this place.

Sir _Cred._ Good Lord, _Lodwick_, thou art the strangest Man,--what do
you mean to fright a body thus?

_Lod._ You remember the Serenade last night?

Sir _Cred._ Remember it? Zoz