t the Youth in Shades.

_Isab._ And are you, Sir, in earnest? can it be?

_Wit._ That question was severe, what means my Love?
What pretty Art is this to blow my Flame?
Are you not mine? did we not meet t'enjoy?
I came not with more vigorous eager Haste,
When our first Sacrifice to Love we paid,
Than to perform that Ceremony now.
Come do not let the Sacred Fire burn out,
Which only was prepar'd for Love's rich Altar,
And this is the divine, dark, silent Minute--
[Goes to lead her off.

_Isab._ Hold, Ravisher, and know this saucy Passion
Has render'd back your Interest. Now I hate ye,
And my Obedience to my Father's Will
Shall marry me to _Fainlove_, and I'll despise ye.
[Flings from him.

_Wit._ Hah! _Isabella!_ Death, I have made sweet work,--stay, gentle
Maid,--she'll ruin all if she go:--stay--she knew me, and cunningly drew
me to this Discovery; I'll after her and undeceive her.
[Runs after her.

_A confused Noise of the Serenade, the_

SCENE VI draws off to Lady _Fancy's_ Anti-chamber.

Enter _Isabella_ groping as in the dark.

_Isab._ Pray Heaven I get undiscover'd to my Chamber, where I'll make
Vows against this perjured Man; hah, sure he follows still; no
Wood-Nymph ever fled before a Satyr, with half that trembling haste I
flew from _Lodwick_.--Oh, he has lost his Virtue, and undone me.
[Goes out groping, and the noise of Serenade again.

SCENE VII. _Changes to Lady _Fancy's_ Bed-chamber, discovers her as
before; _Lodwick_ as just risen in Disorder from the Bed, buttoning
himself, and setting himself in order; and Noise at the Door of
unlatching it._

Enter _Isabella_ groping, Sir _Patient_ without.

L. _Fan._ It is this Door that open'd, and which I thought I had
secur'd.

Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Oh, insupportable, abominable, and not to be
indur'd!

_Isab._ Hah, my Father! I'm discover'd and pursu'd,--grant me to find
the Bed.

L. _Fan._ Heavens! 'twas my Husband's Voice, sure we're betray'd. It
must be so, for what Devil but that of Jealousy cou'd raise him at this
late hour?

_Isab._ Hah, where am I, and who is't that speaks-- [To her self.

_Lod._ So, he must know that I have made a Cuckold of him. [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Call up my Men, the Coachman, Groom, and Butler,
the Footmen, Cook, and Gardiner; bid 'em all rise and arm, with long
Staff, Spade and Pitchfork, and sally out upon the Wicked.

_Lod._ S'heart! wha