t _Lov._ who stands musing.

Enter _Freeman_.

_Free._ How now, what's the matter with thee?

_Lov._ Prithee wake me, _Freeman_.

_Free._ Wake thee!

_Lov._ I dream; by Heaven I dream;
Nay, yet the lovely Phantom's in my View.
Oh! wake me, or I sleep to perfect Madness.

_Free._ What ail'st thou? what did'st dream of?

_Lov._ A strange fantastick Charmer,
A thing just like a Woman Friend;
It walkt and lookt with wondrous Majesty,
Had Eyes that kill'd, and Graces deck'd her Face;
But when she talk'd, mad as the Winds she grew,
Chimera in the form of Angel, Woman!

_Free._ Who the Devil meanest thou?

_Lov._ By Heav'n I know not, but, as she vanish'd hence, she bad me come
to the General's.

_Free._ Why, this is she I told thee ey'd thee so at the Conventicle;
'tis _Lambert_, the renown'd, the famous Lady _Lambert_-- Mad call'st
thou her? 'tis her ill acted Greatness, thou mistak'st; thou art not
us'd to the Pageantry of these Women yet: they all run thus mad; 'tis
Greatness in 'em, _Loveless._

_Lov._ And is thine thus, thy Lady _Desbro_?

_Free._ She's of another Cut, she married, as most do, for Interest--
but what-- thou't to her?

_Lov._ If Lightning stop my way:--
Perhaps a sober View may make me hate her. [Exeunt both.

SCENE II. _A Chamber in _Lambert's_ House._

Enter _Lambert_ and _Whitlock_.

_Whit._ My Lord, now is your time, you may be King; Fortune is yours,
you've time it self by th' Fore-lock.

_Lam._ If I thought so, I'd hold him fast, by Heaven.

_Whit._ If you let slip this Opportunity, my Lord, you are undone-- _Aut
Caesar, aut Nullus._

_Lam._ But _Fleetwood_--

_Whit._ Hang him, soft Head.

_Lam._ True, he's of an easy Nature; yet if thou didst but know how
little Wit governs this mighty Universe, thou wou'dst not wonder Men
should set up him.

_Whit._ That will not recommend him at this _Juncto_, tho he's an
excellent Tool for your Lordship to make use of; and therefore use him,
Sir, as _Cataline_ did _Lentulus_; drill the dull Fool with Hopes of
Empire on, and that all tends to his Advancement only: The Blockhead
will believe the Crown his own: What other Hopes could make him ruin
Richard, a Gentleman of Qualities a thousand times beyond him?

_Lam._ They were both too soft; an ill Commendation for a General, who
should be rough as Storms of War it self.

_Whit._ His time was short, and yours is coming on; Old Oliver had his.

_Lam._