gs between Joy and Fear possess
me? All my whole Soul is taken up with _Wittmore_; I've no Ideas, no
Thoughts but of _Wittmore_, and sure my Tongue can speak no other
Language, but his Name.--Who's there?

Enter _Maundy_ leading _Lodwick_.

_Maun._ Madam, 'tis I, and your expected Lover here--I put him into your
hands, and will wait your Commands in the next Chamber.
[Exit _Maun._

_Lod._ Where are you, my dearest Creature?

L. _Fan._ Here--give me your Hand, I'll lead you to those Joys we both
so long have sigh'd for.

_Lod._ Hah! to Joys; sure she doth but dally with me. [Aside.

L. _Fan._ Why come you not on, my dear?

_Lod._ And yet, why this Admission, and i' th' dark too, if she design'd
me none but virtuous Favours?--What damn'd Temptation's this?

L. _Fan._ Are you bewitch'd? what is't that frights you?

_Lod._ I'm fix'd: Death, was ever such a Lover?
Just ready for the highest Joys of Love,
And like a bashful Girl restrain'd by Fear
Of an insuing Infamy--I hate to cuckold my own Expectations.

L. _Fan._ Heavens! what can you mean?

_Lod._ Death, what's this?--sure 'tis not Virtue in me,--Pray Heaven it
be not Impotence!--Where got I this damn'd Honesty, which I never found
my self master of till now!--why shou'd it seize me when I had least
need on't?

L. _Fan._ What ails you? are you mad?--we are safe, and free as Winds
let loose to ruffle all the Groves; what is't delays you then? Soft.

_Lod._ Pox o' this thought of Wife, the very Name destroys my appetite.
Oh, with what Vigour I could deal my Love
To some fair leud unknown,
To whom I'd never made a serious Vow!

L. _Fan._ Tell me the Mystery of this sudden Coldness: have I kept my
Husband in Town for this? Nay, persuaded him to be very sick to serve
our purpose, and am I thus rewarded--ungrateful Man!

_Lod._ Hah,--'tis not _Isabella's_ Voice,--your Husband, say you?
[Takes hold greedily of her Hand.

L. _Fan._ Is safe, from any fear of interrupting us.
Come--these Delays do ill consist with Love
And our Desires; at least if they are equal.

_Lod._ Death, 'tis the charming Mother!
What lucky Star directed me to night?
O my fair Dissembler, let us haste
To pay the mighty Tributes due to Love.

L. _Fan._ Follow me then with careful Silence,--for _Isabella's_ Chamber
joins to this, and she may hear us.

_Lod_. Not Flowers grow, nor smooth Streams glide away,
Not absent Lovers sigh, nor brea