+Amph.+ Have patience, heart, I know I lie: thou need'st Not tell me so--I had better then confess My love. [_Aside._] Do you laugh, duke? [i']faith So could I at you, till the tears ran down My cheeks--that they would quickly do, for grief Would fain unload my eyes. I must begone, I cannot longer act this part, unless I had a heart as hard as his. [_Aside._ +Duke.+ What, you are going Now to your love Ortellus? +Amph.+ I am so, And going from you to him, is pleasure double, Not only pain, to quit, but joy to meet. +Duke.+ Make haste then, for your departure will oblige Me too, so we shall be all pleas'd! +Amph.+ Haste I will make, but with unwilling feet: For every step from him my grief repeats. [_Aside. Exit._ +Duke.+ She's gone, and after her my heart is flown, 'Tis well it has no tongue to make its moan; Then 'twould discover what my pride conceals, A heart in love (though slighted) love reveals. Yet though I love her still, she shall not know; Her hate shall seem my joy, which is my woe. My constancy I'll outwardly disguise, Though here within I am not half so wise. Yet rather than disclose my doating fate, I'll wound my heart by counterfeiting hate. To whine, it wou'd the worst of follies prove, Since women only pity when they love. With how much scorn she gave me welcome home, Ortellus in her hand, to show my doom! Me and my triumphs she did so despise, As if they'd been unworthy of her eyes. 'Tis well to her I show'd as much disdain; I'd rather perish than she guess my pain. But O, the horrid act she makes me do, To fool a woman that is young and true! So damn'd a sin, that hell could not invent, It is too foul for any punishment; To question those above I am afraid, Else I would ask them, why they woman made. _Enter +Philidor+._ O my mad cousin, your servant. Whither so fast? +Phil.+ So fast, sir? why, I have been hunted by a pack of hounds This three hours, And damn'd deep-mouth'd hounds too, [sir] no less than Three couple of nurses, three couple Of plaguy hunting bitches, and with them Three couple of whelps, alias children, sir. They have rung me such a ring this morning Through every by-turning that leads to a bawdy House, I wish'd myself earth'd a thousand Times, as a fox does when he is hard-run, But that they wou'd have presently digged me Out with their tongues. +Duke.+ Faith, Philidor, 'Tis no news to me; for I have known thee From sixteen at this course of life. What, and these Children were all your bastards, and your nurses Coming to dun you for money? +Phil.+ Something of that's in it, I think, sir.