ring it about without Miracle.

_Luc._ Your Cousin _Beaumond_ will forbid the Banes.

_Aria._ No, nor old _Carlos_ neither, my Mother's precious Choice, who
is as sollicitous for the old Gentleman, as my Father-in-Law is for his
Nephew. Therefore, _Lucia_, like a good and gracious Child, I'll end the
Dispute between my Father and Mother, and please my self in the choice
of this Stranger, if he be to be had.

_Luc._ I should as soon be enamour'd on the North Wind, a Tempest, or a
Clap of Thunder. Bless me from such a Blast.

_Aria._ I'd have a Lover rough as Seas in Storms, upon occasion; I hate
your dull temperate Lover, 'tis such a husbandly quality, like
_Beaumond's_ Addresses to me, whom neither Joy nor Anger puts in motion;
or if it do, 'tis visibly forc'd-- I'm glad I saw him entertain a Woman
to day, not that I care, but wou'd be fairly rid of him.

_Luc._ You'll hardly mend your self in this.

_Aria._ What, because he held Discourse with a Curtezan?

_Luc._ Why, is there no danger in her Eyes, do ye think?

_Aria._ None that I fear, that Stranger's not such a fool to give his
Heart to a common Woman; and she that's concern'd where her Lover
bestows his Body, were I the Man, I should think she had a mind to't her
self.

_Luc._ And reason, Madam: in a lawful way 'tis your due.

_Aria._ What all? unconscionable _Lucia_! I am more merciful; but be he
what he will, I'll to this cunning Man, to know whether ever any part of
him shall be mine.

_Luc._ Lord, Madam, sure he's a Conjurer.

_Aria._ Let him be the Devil, I'll try his Skill, and to that end will
put on a Suit of my Cousin _Endymion_; there are two or three very
pretty ones of his in the Wardrobe, go carry 'em to my Chamber, and
we'll fit our selves and away-- Go haste whilst I undress.
[Ex. _Lucia_.

[_Ariadne_ undressing before the Glass.

Enter _Beaumond_ tricking himself, and looks on himself.

_Beau._ Now for my charming Beauty, fair _La Nuche_-- hah-- Ariadne--
damn the dull Property, how shall I free my self?
[She turns, sees him, and walks from the Glass, he takes no notice
of her, but tricks himself in the Glass, humming a Song.

_Aria._ _Beaumond!_ What Devil brought him hither to prevent me? I hate
the formal matrimonial Fop.
[He walks about and sings.
_Sommes nous pas trop heureux,
Belle Irise, que nous ensemble._

A Devil on him, he may chance to plague me till night, and hinder my
dear Assignatio