be as ready to be damn'd
In honour as any Lover of you all.

_Alcan_. Ounds, Sir, d'ye railly with me?

_Fal_. Your pardon, sweet _Alcander_, I protest I am
Not in so gay an humour.

_Alcan_. Farewell, I had forgot my self.
[_Exit_.

_Fal_. Stark mad, by _Jove_--yet it may be not, for _Alcander_ has
many unaccountable humours.
Well, if this be agreeable to _Aminta_, she's e'en as mad
As he, and 'twere great pity to part them.

_Enter_ Pisaro, Aminta, _and_ Olinda.

_Am_. Well, have you kill'd him?

_Fal_. Some wiser than some, Madam.
--My Lord--what, alive?--
[_Sees_ Pisaro, _runs to him, and embraces him_.

_Pis_. Worth two dead men, you see.

_Fal_. That's more than I could have said within
This half hour. _Alcander's_ very _Orlando_, by _Jove_, and gone
To seek out one that's madder yet than himself
That will kill him.

_Am_. Oh, dear _Falatius_, run and fetch him back.

_Fal_. Madam, I have so lately 'scap'd a scouring,
That I wish you would take it for a mark
Of my Passion to disobey you;
For he is in a damn'd humour.

_Am_. He's out of it by this, I warrant you;
But do not tell him that _Pisaro_ lives.

_Fal_. That's as I shall find occasion.
[_Exit_ Fal.

_Pis. Alcander_ is a worthy Youth and brave,
I wish you would esteem him so;
'Tis true, there's now some difference between us,
Our Interests are dispos'd to several ways,
But Time and Management will join us all:
I'll leave you; but prithee make it thy business
To get my Pardon for last night's rudeness.

_Am_. I shall not fail.

[_Exit_ Pis.

_Re-enter_ Falatius, _with_ Alcander _melancholy_.

_Fal_. Here, Madam, here he is.

_Am_. Tell me, _Alcander_, why you treat me thus?
You say you love me, if I could believe you.

_Alcan_. Believe a Man! away, you have no wit,
I'll say as much to every pretty Woman.

_Am_. But I have given you no cause to wrong me.

_Alcan_. That was my Fate, not Fault, I knew him not:
But yet to make up my offence to you,
I offer you my life; for I'm undone,
If any faults of mine should make you sad.

_Am_. Here, take your Sword again, my Brother's well.
[_She gives him his Sword again_.

_Fal_. Yes, by _Jove_, as I am: you had been finely serv'd,
If I had kill'd you now.

_Am_. What, sorry for the news? ha, ha, ha.

_Alcan_. No, sorry y'are a Woman, a mere Woman