ks the Day,
More silently than I'll those Joys receive,
Which Love and Darkness do conspire to give.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. Changes again to a Garden.

Enter _Isabella_ and _Fanny_ in their Night-gowns.

_Isab._ Well, I have no mind to let this dear mad Devil _Lodwick_ in to
night.

_Fan._ Why, Sister, this is not the first Venture you have made of this
kind, at this Hour, and in this Place; these Arbours were they
tell-tales, cou'd discover many pretty stories of your Loves, and do you
think they'll be less faithful now? pray trust them once again. Oh, I do
so love to hear Mr. _Lodwick_ protest, and vow, and swear, and
dissemble, and when you don't believe him, rail at you,--avads, 'tis the
prettiest Man--

_Isab._ I have a strange apprehension of being surpriz'd to night.

_Fan._ I'll warrant you, I'll sit on yon Bank of Pinks, and when I hear
a Noise I'll come and tell you; so _Lodwick_ may slip out at the back
Gate, and we may be walking up and down as if we meant no harm.

_Isab._ You'll grow very expert in the Arts of Love, _Fanny_.

_Fan._ When I am big enough I shall do my Endeavour, for I have heard
you say, Women were born to no other end than to love: And 'tis fit I
should learn to live and die in my calling.--Come, open the Gate, or
you'll repent it, we shall have my Father marry you within a day or two
to that ugly Man that speaks hard Words,--avads, I can't abide him.

_Isab._ What Noise is that?

_Fan._ Why, 'tis Mr. _Lodwick_ at the Garden-Door;--let him in whilst
I'll to my flowry Bank, and stand Centinel.--
[Runs off. _Isabella_ opens the Gate.

Enter _Wittmore_.

_Wit._ Who's there?

_Isab._ Speak low, who shou'd it be but the kind Fool her self, who can
deny you nothing but what you dare not take?

_Wit._ Not take! what's that? hast thou reserves in store?
--Oh, come and let me lead thee to thy Bed,
Or seat thee on some Bank of softer Flowers,
Where I may rifle all thy unknown Store.

_Isab._ How! surely you're not in earnest?--Do you love me?

_Wit._ Love thee! by thy dear self, all that my Soul adores,
I'm all impatient Flame! all over Love!
--You do not use to doubt, but since you do,
Come, and I'll satisfy thy obliging Fears,
And give thee Proofs how much my Soul is thine,
I'll breathe it all anew into thy Bosom.--
Oh, thou art fit for the transporting Play,
All loose and wanton, like the Queen of Love
When she descends to mee