them.

_Will._ Nay, and you be so well acquainted, I'll leave you-- unfortunate
still I am; my own well meaning, but ill Management, is my eternal Foe:
Plague on 'em, they have wounded me-- yet not one drop of Blood's
departed from me that warm'd my Heart for Woman, and I'm not willing to
quit this Fairy-ground till some kind Devil have been civil to me.

Enter _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_.

_Aria._ I say, 'tis he: thou'st made so many dull Mistakes to Night,
thou darest not trust thy Senses when they're true-- How do you, Sir?

_Will._ That Voice has Comfort in't, for 'tis a Woman's: hah, more
Interruption?

_Aria._ A little this way, Sir.
[Ex. _Aria_, and _Will._ into the Garden.

Enter _Beaumond_, _Abevile_ in a submissive Posture.

_Beau._ No more excuses-- By all these Circumstances, I know this
_Ariadne_ is a Gipsy. What difference then beween a money-taking
Mistress and her that gives her Love? only perhaps this sins the closer
by't, and talks of Honour more: What Fool wou'd be a Slave to empty
Name, or value Woman for dissembling well? I'll to _La Nuche_-- the
honester o'th' two-- _Abevile_-- get me my Musick ready, and attend me
at _La Nuche's_.
[Ex. severally.

_Luc._ He's gone, and to his Mistress too.

Enter _Ariadne_ pursu'd by _Willmore_.

_Will._ My little _Daphne_, 'tis in vain to fly, unless like her, you
cou'd be chang'd into a Tree: _Apollo's_ self pursu'd not with more
eager Fire than I.
[Holds her.

_Aria._ Will you not grant a Parly e'er I yield?

_Will._ I'm better at a Storm.

_Aria._ Besides, you're wounded too.

_Will._ Oh leave those Wounds of Honour to my Surgeon, thy Business is
to cure those of Love. Your true bred Soldier ever fights with the more
heat for a Wound or two.

_Aria._ Hardly in Venus' Wars.

_Will._ Her self ne'er thought so when she snatcht her Joys between the
rough Encounters of the God of War. Come, let's pursue the Business we
came for: See the kind Night invites, and all the ruffling Winds are
husht and still, only the Zephirs spread their tender Wings, courting in
gentle Murmurs the gay Boughs; 'twas in a Night like this, Diana taught
the Mysteries of Love to the fair Boy Endymion. I am plaguy full of
History and Simile to night.

_Aria._ You see how well he far'd for being modest.

_Will._ He might be modest, but 'twas not over-civil to put her
Goddessship to asking first; thou seest I'm better bred-- Come let's
haste to silen