FLO. And we presume Your acquiescence will accomplish it. Our mutual loves close in that harmony That, though the airs of music still admit Their closure in divisions, our joint strings, So sweetly tun'd, may run their diapason Without a discord. FRI. By which sense we gather, That we must prove your fiddlers? FLO. You mistake me. We hold you instruments; your fancies, strings, To actuate our motion with that fulness Arion ne'er attain'd to. LADIES. We must yield, Or they will storm us. FRI. Yet let our conditions Bring them within our lists. Well, our surprise Must make you parties i' th' discovery. ALL. For love's sake, how? FRI. As thus: we stand at bar T' express our grievances: and you must set Grave censors or examinates to discuss The weight of our complaints. ALL. Content; we'll do't. LADIES. But do't exactly, or you spoil the plot. CAR. 'Slid, doubt not, ladies, we have wit enough To frame intergotaries, so you make answer, And with your quickness do not puzzle us. ALL. Advance, advance; let's mount, and play the consuls. [_The Confidants ascend the higher seats, erected after the form of the Roman exedras, the Ladies, with petitions in their hands, standing at the bar._ 1ST BOY. How will these dainty dottrels act their parts? 2D BOY. Rarely, no doubt; their audience makes them confident. SCENE V. FLO. Now, fair ladies, what wind has blown you hither? FRI. The storm of our insufferable wrongs Call unto you for justice. CAR. And your beauties Enjoin our just assistance. Show your griefs. 1ST BOY. This is a caranto-man, with all my heart! must Beauty be his landskip on the seat of justice? [_Aside._ 2D BOY. Pray thee, give them line. [_Aside._ FRI. Should I discover my misfortunes, consuls, They would enforce compassion, even in strangers, Who know not my extraction. My descent, Besides the fortunes I deriv'd from them Who gave me being, breeding, with whate'er Might complete youth, or give embellishment To Nature's curious workmanship, was known To shine more graceful in the eye of fame Than to remain obscure: yet see my fate-- My sad occurring fate! FLO. Express it, madam. FRI. I married, reverend consul, and in that Lost both my freedom, fortune, and myself. My former single sweet condition Clothes that remembrance in a sable weed, Resolves mine eyes to Niobe's, whose tears Might drop to marble, and erect an urn T' inhume my funeral spousals. [_She feigns to weep, in resentment of her former estate._ CAR. Alas! poor lady. 1ST BOY. Pitiful senator, if he have not drunk some coffee to keep him waking, he will questionless fall asleep, or melt into tears, before he delivers his sentence. [_Aside._ PAL. Whence sprung this spring of infelicity? Resolve us, madam.