--

_Sab_. Lord, how he sweats! please you, sir, to make use of my
handkerchief?

_Olin_. You and I are merry, and just of an humour, sir;
therefore we two should love one another.

_Sab_. And you and I are just of an age, sir; and therefore,
methinks, we should not hate one another.

_Cel_. Then I perceive, ladies, I am a castaway, a reprobate,
with you: Why, 'faith, this is hard luck now, that I should be no less
than one whole hour in getting your affections, and now must lose 'em
in a quarter of it.

_Olin_. No matter, let him rail; does the loss afflict you, sir?

_Cel_. No, in faith, does it not; for if you had not forsaken me,
I had you: So the willows may flourish, for any branches I shall rob
'em of.

_Sab_. However, we have the advantage to have left you; not you
us.

_Cel_. That's only a certain nimbleness in nature, you women
have, to be first inconstant; but if you had not made the more haste,
the wind was veering too upon my weathercock: The best on't is,
Florimel is worth both of you.

_Flo_. 'Tis like she'll accept of their leavings.

_Cel_. She will accept on't, and she shall accept on't: I think I
know more than you of her mind, sir.

_Enter_ MELISSA.

_Mel_. Daughters, there's a poor collation within, that waits for
you.

_Flo_. Will you walk, musty sir?

_Cel_. No, marry, sir, I will not; I have surfeited of that old
woman's face already.

_Flo_. Begin some frolic, then; what will you do for her?

_Cel_. Faith, I am no dog, to show tricks for her; I cannot come
aloft to an old woman.

_Flo_. Dare you kiss her?

_Cel_. I was never dared by any man. By your leave, old madam--
[_He plucks off her ruff_.

_Mel_. Help! help! do you discover my nakedness?

_Cel_. Peace, Tiffany! no harm! [_He puts on the ruff_.]
Now, Sir, here's Florimel's health to you. [_Kisses her_.

_Mel_. Away, sir!--A sweet young man as you are, to abuse the
gift of nature so!

_Cel_. Good mother, do not commend me so; I am flesh and blood,
and you do not know what you may pluck upon that reverend person of
yours.--Come on, follow your leader.

[_Gives_ FLORIMEL _the ruff; she puts it on_.

_Flo_. Stand fair, mother--

_Cel_. What, with your hat on? Lie thou there;--and thou, too--

[_Plucks off her hat and peruke, and discovers_ FLORIMEL.

_All_. Florimel!

_Flo_. My kind mistresses, how sorry I am, I can do you no
further service! I think I had best resign you to Celadon, to make
amends for