_Enter Lady, Nurse, Maria._ _La._ Didst think _Maria_, this poor outside, and Dissembling of thy voice could hide thee from A mothers searching eye, though too much fear, Lest thou wert not the same, might blind a Lover That thought thee dead too; oh my dear _Maria_, I hardly kept my joyes in from betraying thee: Welcome again to life, we shall find out The mystery of thy absence; conceal Thy person still, for _Algripe_ must not know thee: And exercise this pretty Dialect; If there be any course in Law to free thee, Thou shalt not be so miserable; be silent Good Nurse. _Nur._ You [shall] not need to fear me, Madam, I do not love the usuring Jew so well; Beside, 'twas my trick to disguise her so. _La._ Be not dejected _Mall_. _Ma._ Your care may comfort me; But I despair of happiness: _Hartlove_, I dare not see him. _Nur._ We'll withdraw. _L[a]._ I shall but grieve to see his passions too, Since there's no possibility to relieve him. _Enter_ Hartlove. _Ha._ The world's a Labyrinth, where unguided men Walk up and down to find their weariness; No sooner have we measured with much toil One crooked path with hope to gain our freedom, But it betrays us to a new affliction; What a strange mockery will man become Shortly to all the creatures? Oh _Mariah_! If thou be'st dead, why does thy shadow fright me? Sure 'tis because I live; were I but certain To meet thee in one grave, and that our dust Might have the priviledge to mix in silence, How quickly should my soul shake off this burthen! _Enter Boy._ [_Boy._] Thus far my wishes have success, I'll lose No time: Sir, are not you call'd Mr. _Hartlove_? Pardon my rudeness. _Ha._ What does that concern Thee Boy, 'tis a name cannot advantage thee; And I am weary on't. _Boy._ Had you conceal'd, Or I forgot it, Sir, so large were my Directions, that you could not speak this language, But I should know you by your sorrow. _Ha._ Thou Wert well inform'd, it seems; well, what's your business? _Boy._ I come to bring you comfort. _Ha._ Is _Maria_ Alive agen? that's somewhat, and yet not Enough to make my expectation rise, to Past half a blessing; since we cannot meet To make it up a full one; th'art mistaken. _Boy._ When you have heard me, you'll think otherwise: In vain I should report _Maria_ living: The comfort that I bring you, must depend Upon her death. _Ha._ Th'art a dissembling boy, Some one has sent thee to mock me; though my anger Stoop not to punish thy green years unripe For malice; did I know what person sent thee To tempt my sorrow thus, I should reveng it.