Oli_. Pray Heaven you keep your word.

_Am_. That sad tone of thine, _Olinda_, has almost
Made me repent of my promise; but come, what is't?

_Oli_. My Brother, Madam.

_Am_. Now fie upon thee, is that all thy business?
[_Offers to go off_.

_Oli_. Stay, Madam, he dies for you.

_Am_. He cannot do't for any Woman living;
But well--it seems he speaks of Love to you;
To me he does appear a very Statue.

_Oli_. He nought but sighs and calls upon your name,
And vows you are the cruell'st Maid that breathes.

_Am_. Thou can'st not be in earnest sure.

_Oli_. I'll swear I am, and so is he.

_Am_. Nay, thou hast a hard task on't, to make
Vows to all the Women he makes love to;
Indeed I pity thee; ha, ha, ha.

_Oli_. You should not laugh at those you have undone.

Aminta _sings_.

_Hang Love, for I will never pine
For any Man alive;
Nor shall this jolly Heart of mine
The thoughts of it receive;
I will not purchase Slavery
At such a dangerous rate;
But glory in my Liberty,
And laugh at Love and Fate_.

_Oli_. You'll kill him by this cruelty.

_Am_. What is't thou call'st so?
For I have hitherto given no denials,
Nor has he given me cause;
I have seen him wildly gaze upon me often,
And sometimes blush and smile, but seldom that;
And now and then found fault with my replies,
And wonder'd where the Devil lay that wit,
Which he believ'd no Judge of it could find.

_Oli_. Faith, Madam, that's his way of making love.

_Am_. It will not take with me, I love a Man
Can kneel, and swear, and cry, and look submiss,
As if he meant indeed to die my Slave:
Thy Brother looks--but too much like a Conqueror. [_Sighs_.

_Oli_. How, _Aminta_, can you sigh in earnest?

_Am_. Yes, _Olinda_, and you shall know its meaning;
I love _Alcander_, and am not asham'd o'th' secret,
But prithee do not tell him what I say.
--Oh, he's a man made up of those Perfections,
Which I have often lik'd in several men;
And wish'd united to compleat some one,
Whom I might have the glory to o'ercome.
--His Mein and Person, but 'bove all his Humour,
That surly Pride, though even to me addrest,
Does strangely well become him.

_Oli_. May I believe this?

_Am_. Not if you mean to speak on't,
But I shall soon enough betray my self.

_Enter_ Falatius _with a patch or two on his Face_.

_Falatius_, welcome from the Wars;
I'm glad to see y'ave scap'd the dangers