me such a Pain in my Head, I am not able to
endure the Psalm-singing.

Sir _Pat._ This comes of your Weeping; but we'll omit that part of th'
Exercise, and have no Psalm sung.

L. _Fan._ Oh, by no means, Sir, 'twill scandalize the Brethren; for you
know a Psalm is not sung so much out of Devotion, as 'tis to give notice
of our Zeal and pious Intentions: 'tis a kind of Proclamation to the
Neighbourhood, and cannot be omitted.--Oh, how my Head aches!

_Wit._ He were a damn'd dull Lover, that cou'd not guess what she meant
by this.
[Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Well, my Lady _Fancy_, your Ladyship shall be obey'd,--come,
Sir, we'll leave her to her Women. [Exit Sir _Pat._
[As _Wittmore_ goes out, he bows and looks on her; she gives him
a Sign.

_Wit._ That kind Look is a sufficient Invitation. [Exit.

L. _Fan._ _Maundy_, follow 'em down, and bring _Wittmore_ back again.--
[Exit _Maun._] There's now a necessity of our contriving to avoid this
Marriage handsomly,--and we shall at least make two Hours our own;
I never wish'd well to long Prayers till this Minute.

Enter _Wittmore_.

_Wit._ Oh my dear _Lucia_!

L. _Fan._ Oh _Wittmore_! I long to tell thee what a fatal Mistake had
like to have happened last Night.

_Wit._ My Friend has told me all, and how he was prevented by the coming
of your Husband from robbing me of those sacred Delights I languish for.
Oh, let us not lose inestimable Time in dull talking; but haste to give
each other the only Confirmation we can give, how little we are our own.

L. _Fan._ I see _Lodwick's_ a Man of Honour, and deserves a Heart if I
had one to give him.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Hall.

Enter Sir _Patient_ and _Roger_.

Sir _Pat._ _Roger_, is Prayer ready, _Roger_?

_Rog._ Truly nay, Sir, for Mr. _Gogle_ has taken too much of the
Creature this Morning, and is not in case, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ How mean you, Sirrah, that Mr. _Gogle_ is overtaken with
Drink?

_Rog._ Nay, Sir, he hath over-eaten himself at Breakfast only.

Sir _Pat._ Alas, and that's soon done, for he hath a sickly Stomach as
well as I, poor Man. Where is _Bartholomew_ the Clerk? he must hold
forth then to day.

_Rog._ Verily he is also disabled: for going forth last Night by your
Commandment to smite the Wicked, he received a blow over the
_Pericranium_.--

Sir _Pat._ Why, how now, Sirrah, Latin! the Language of the Beast!
hah--and what then, Sir?

_Rog._ Which Blow, I doubt, Si