_Mir._ Away, wild Fool: how vile this shews in him now! Now take my faith, before ye all I speak it, And with it, my repentant love. _La-C._ This seems well. _Mir._ Were but this Lady clear again, whose sorrows My very heart melts for; were she but perfect (For thus to marry her would be two miseries,) Before the richest and the noblest Beauty, _France_, or the World could shew me; I would take her As she is now, my Tears and Prayers shall wed her. _De-Gar._ This makes some small amends. _Ros._ She beckons to ye, To us too, to go off. _Nant._ Let's draw aside all. _Ori._ Oh my best friend; I would fain. _Mir._ What? she speaks well, And with another voice. _Ori._ But I am fearful, And shame a little stops my tongue. _Mir._ Speak boldly. _Ori._ Tell ye, I am well, I am perfect well: 'pray ye mock not; And that I did this to provoke your Nature, Out of my infinite and restless love, To win your pity; pardon me. _Mir._ Go forward; Who set ye on? _Ori._ None, as I live, no Creature; Not any knew, or ever dream'd what I meant; Will ye be mine? _Mir._ 'Tis true, I pity ye: But when I marry ye, ye must be wiser: Nothing but Tricks? Devices? _Ori._ Will ye shame me? _Mir._ Yes, marry will I: Come near, come near, a miracle; The Woman's well; she was only mad for Marriage, Stark mad to be ston'd to death; give her good counsel, Will this world never mend? are ye caught, Damsel? _Enter_ Belleur, La-Castre, Lugier, Nantolet, De Gard, Rosalure, _and_ Bianca. _Bel._ How goes it now? _Mir._ Thou art a kind of Prophet, The Woman's well again, and would have gull'd me; Well, excellent well: and not a taint upon her. _Bel._ Did not I tell ye? Let 'em be what can be; Saints, Devils, any thing, they will abuse us; Thou wert an Ass to believe her so long, a Coxcomb; Give 'em a minute they'll abuse whole millions. _Mir._ And am not I a rare Physician, Gentlemen, That can cure desperate mad minds? _De Gar._ Be not insolent. _Mir._ Well, go thy waies: from this hour, I disclaim thee, Unless thou hast a trick above this: then I'le love thee. Ye owe me for your Cure; pray have a care of her, For fear she fall into Relapse: come _Belleur_ We'll set up Bills, to Cure Diseased Virgins. _Bel._ Shall we be merry? _Mir._ Yes. _Bel._ But I'le no more projects; If we could make 'em mad, it were some mastery. [_Exeunt._ _Lil._ I am glad she is well again. _Ros._ So am I, certain, Be not ashamed. _Oria._ I shall never see a man more. _De Gar._ Come ye are a fool: had ye but told me this trick, He should not have gloried thus. _Lug._ He shall not long neither. _La-C._ Be rul'd, and be at peace: ye have my consent, And what power I can work with.