Scene draws off to a room in Sir Patient Fancy’s house, and discovers Lady Knowell, Isabella, Lucretia, Lodwick, Leander, Wittmore, Sir Credulous, other Men and Women, as going to dance.
L. Kno. Come, one Dance more, and then I think we shall have sufficiently teaz’d the Alderman, and ‘twill be time to part. — Sir Credulous, where’s your Mistress?
Sir Cred. Within a Mile of an Oak, dear Madam, I’ll warrant you. — Well, I protest and vow, sweet Lady, you dance most nobly, — Why, you dance — like — like a — like a hasty Pudding, before Jove.
[They dance some Antick, or Rustick Antick. Lodwick speaking to
Isabella.
SONG made by a Gentleman.
Sitting by yonder River side,
Parthenia thus to Cloe cry’d,
Whilst from the fair Nymph’s Eyes apace
Another Stream o’er-flow’d her beauteous Face;
Ah happy Nymph, said she, that can
So little value that false Creature, Man.
Oft the perfidious things will cry,
Alas they burn, they bleed, they die;
But if they’re absent half a Day,
Nay, let ‘em be but one poor Hour away,
No more they die, no more complain,
But like unconstant Wretches live again.
Lod. Well, have you consider’d of that Business yet, Isabella?
Isab. What business?
Lod. Of giving me admittance to night.
Isab. And may I trust your honesty?
Lod. Oh, doubt me not, my mother’s resolv’d it shall be a match between you and I, and that very consideration will secure thee: besides, who would first sully the Linen they mean to put on?
Isab. Away, here’s my Mother.
Enter Lady Fancy and Maundy.
L. Fan. Madam, I beg your pardon for my absence, the effects of my Obedience, not Will; but Sir Patient is taken very ill o’th’ sudden, and I must humbly intreat your Ladyship to retire, for Rest is only essential to his Recovery.
L. Kno. Congruously spoken, upon my Honour. Oh, the impudence of this Fellow your Ladyship’s Husband, to espouse so fair a Person only to make a Nurse of!
L. Fan. Alas, Madam! —
L. Kno. A Slave, a very Houshold Drudge. — Oh, faugh, come never grieve; — for, Madam, his Disease is nothing but Imagination, a Melancholy which arises from the Liver, Spleen, and Membrane call’d Mesenterium; the Arabians name the Distemper Myrathial, and we here in England, Hypochondriacal Melancholy; I cou’d prescribe a most potent Remedy, but that I am loth to stir the Envy of the College.
L. Fan. Really, Madam, I believe —
L. Kno. But as you say, Madam, we’ll leave him to his Repose; pray do not grieve too much.
Lod. Death! wou’d I had the consoling her, ’tis a charming Woman!
L. Kno. Mr. Fancy, your Hand; Madam, your most faithful Servant. — Lucretia, come, Lucretia. — Your Servant, Ladies and Gentleman.
L. Fan. A Devil on her, wou’d the Nimbleness of her Ladyship’s Tongue were in her Heels, she wou’d make more haste away: oh, I long for the blest minute.
Lod. Isabella, shall I find admittance anon?
Isab. On fair Conditions.
Lod. Trust my Generosity. — Madam, your Slave.
[Ex.
[To L. Fan. gazing on her, goes out.
Sir Cred. Madam, I wou’d say something of your Charms and celestial Graces, but that all Praises are as far below you, as the Moon in her Opposition is below the Sun; — and so, luscious Lady, I am yours: Now for my Serenade —
[Ex. all but L. Fan. and Maundy.
L. Fan. Maundy, have you commanded all the Servants to bed?
Maun. Yes, Madam, not a Mouse shall stir, and I have made ready the Chamber next the Garden for your Ladyship.
L. Fan. Then there needs no more but that you wait for Wittmore’s coming to the Garden-Gate, and take care no Lights be in the House for fear of Eyes.
Maun. Madam, I understand Lovers are best by dark, and shall be diligent: the Doctor has secur’d Sir Patient by a sleeping Pill, and you are only to expect your approaching Happiness.
[Exeunt.