JOLLY. Take it; I'll away. What time shall I call you? in the evening? There's a play at court to-night. LOVE. I would willingly be there, but your ladies are so censorious and malicious to us young ladies in the town, especially to me, because the wits are pleased to afford me a visit or so: I could be content else to be seen at court. Pray, what humour is the queen of? The captain of her guard I know. JOLLY. The queen! Who's that knocks at the back-door? [_The_ CAPTAIN _knocks_. LOVE. Smoothe my band; I know not. Go down that way, and look you be not false; if you should be false, I'll swear I should spoil myself with weeping. JOLLY. Farewell! In the evening I'll call you. [_Exit_ JOLLY. LOVE. Who's there? Captain, where have you been all this while? I might sit alone, I see, for you, if I could not find conversation in books. [_She takes a book in her hand, and sits down._ CAPT. Faith, madam, friends newly come to town engaged me; and my stay was civility rather than desire. What book's that? LOVE. I'll swear he was a witch that writ it; for he speaks my thoughts, as if he had been within me: the original, they say, was French. CAPT. O, I know it; 'tis the _Accomplished Woman_:[213] yourself he means by this, while you are yourself. LOVE. Indeed, I confess, I am a great friend to conversation, if we could have it without suspicion; but the world's so apt to judge, that 'tis a prejudice to our honour now to salute a man. CAPT. Innocence, madam, is above opinion, and your fame's too great to be shook with whispers. LOVE. You are ever civil, and therefore welcome. Pray, what news is there now in town? for I am reclused here. Unless it be yours, I receive no visits; and I'll swear, I charged the wench to-day not to let you in: I wonder she let you come. CAPT. Faith, madam, if it had been my own business, I should not have ventured so boldly; but the necessity that forces me to come concerns my friend, against whom if your mercy be now bounded with those strict ties of honour and cold thoughts which I have ever found guard your heart, my friend, a young and handsome man, is lost, is lost in his prime, and falls like early blossoms. But methinks you should not prove the envious frost to destroy this young man, this delicate young man, that has whole bundles of boys in his breeches: yet if you be cruel, he and they die, as useless as open-arses[214] gathered green. [_She must be earnest in her looks all the time he speaks, desirous to know who he speaks of._ LOVE. Good captain, out with the particular. What way can my charity assist him? You know by experience I cannot be cruel: remember how I fetched you out of a swoon, and laid you in my own bed. CAPT. That act preserved a life that has always been laboured in your service, and, I dare say, your charity here will find as fruitful a gratitude.