Duty;
Since by a sacred Vow she was my Wife.

_Amb._ How cam'st thou then to treat her so inhumanly?

_Ant._ In pure revenge to Don _Marcel_ her Brother,
Who forc'd my Nature to a stubbornness,
Which whilst I did put on, I blush to own;
And still between Thoughts so unjust, and Action,
Her Virtue would rise up and check my Soul,
Which still secur'd her Fame.

_Hip._ And I have seen in midst of all thy Anger,
Thou'st turn'd away, and chang'd thy Words to Sighs;
Dropt now and then a Tear, as if asham'd,
Not of thy Injuries, but my little Merit.

_Amb._ How weak and easy Nature makes me-- Rise,
I must forgive you both.
Come, Sir, I know you long to be secur'd
Of what you say you love so much, _Cleonte_.

_Franc._ But, Madam, have you fully pardon'd me?

_Silv._ We will all join in your behalf, _Francisco_.

_Cleo._ I can forgive you, when you can repent. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. __Carlo's_ House._

Enter _Olinda_ and _Dorice_.

_Olin._ But is the Bride-Chamber drest up, and the Bed made as it ought
to be?

_Dor._ As for the making, 'tis as it use to be, only the Velvet
Furniture.

_Olin._ As it use to be? Oh ignorance! I see these young Wenches are not
arriv'd yet to bare Imagination: Well, I must order it my self, I see
that.

_Dor._ Why, _Olinda_, I hope they will not go just to Bed upon their
marrying, without some signs of a Wedding, as Fiddles, and Dancing, and
so forth.

_Olin._ Good Lord, what Joys you have found out for the first Night of a
young Bride and Bridegroom. Fiddles and Dancing, ha, ha, ha! they'll be
much merrier by themselves, than Fiddles and Dancing can make them, you
Fool.
Enter _Haunce_ and _Gload_.
Bless me! what is't I see! [Stares on _Haunce_.

_Hau._ Why! what the Devil means she? look about me, _Gload_, and see
what I have that's so terrible.

_Olin._ Oh, I have no Power to stir, it is a Sprite.

_Hau._ What does she mean now, _Gload_?

_Glo._ She desires to be satisfy'd whether we be Flesh and Blood, Sir,
I believe.

_Hau._ Do'st see nothing that's Devil-wise about me?

_Glo._ No, indeed, Sir, not I.

_Hau._ Why then the Wench is tippled, that's all, a small Fault.

_Olin._ O, in the name of Goodness, Sir, what are you?

_Glo._ Ay, Ay, Sir, 'tis that she desires to know.

_Olin._ Who are you, Sir?

_Hau._ Why who should I be, but he that's to be your Master anon?

_Glo._ Yes, who should he be but _Myn heer Haunce van