eaven!-- [Weeps. _Guil._ howls.
--What dost thou feel, that thou shouldst weep with me?

_Guil._ Nothing but Hunger, sharp Hunger, forsooth.

_Clo._ Leave calling me forsooth, it will betray us.

_Guil._ What shall I call you then?

_Clo._ Call me, _Philibert_, or any thing;
And be familiar with me: put on thy Hat, lest any come and see us.

_Guil._ 'Tis a hard name, but I'll learn it by heart.
--Well, _Philibert_--What shall we do when we come to Court?
[Puts on his Hat.
Besides eating and drinking, which I shall do in abundance.

_Clo._ We must get each of us a Service:
--But thou art such a Clown.

_Guil._ Nay, say not so, honest _Philibert_: for look ye,
I am much the properer Fellow of the two. [Walks.

_Clo._ Well, try thy fortune; but be sure you never discover
Me, whatever Questions may chance to be asked thee.

_Guil._ I warrant thee, honest Lad, I am true and trusty;
But I must be very familiar with you, you say.

_Clo._ Yes, before Company.

_Guil._ Pray let me begin and practise a little now,
An't please you, for fear I should not be saucy enough,
When we arrive at Court.

_Clo._ I'll warrant you you'll soon learn there.

_Guil._ Oh Lord, _Philibert!_ _Philibert!_ I see a Man a coming
Most deadly fine, let's run away.

_Clo._ Thus thou hast serv'd me all this night,
There's not a Bush we come at, but thou start'st thus.

_Guil._ 'Tis true you are a Lover, and may stay the danger on't;
But I'll make sure for one.

_Clo._ It is the Prince, oh Gods! what makes he here?
With Looks disorder'd too; this Place is fit for Death and sad
Despair; the melancholy Spring a sleepy murmur makes,
A proper Consort for departing Souls,
When mix'd with dying Groans, and the thick Boughs
Compose a dismal Roof;
Dark as the gloomy Shades of Death or Graves.
--He comes this way, I'll hide my self awhile. [Goes behind a Bush.

Enter _Frederick_.

_Fred._ But yet not this, nor my despight to _Laura_,
Shall make me out of love with Life,
Whilst I have youthful Fires about my Heart:
--Yet I must fight with _Curtius_,
And so chastise the Pride of that fond Maid,
Whose saucy Virtue durst controul my Flame.
--And yet I love her not as I do _Cloris_;
But fain I would have overcome that Chastity,
Of which the foolish Beauty boasts so.

_Clo._ _Curtius_, I thank thee, now I do believe thee.
_Guilliam_