Ancient Phyllis has young graces, 'Tis a strange thing, but a true one; Shall I tell you how? She herself makes her own faces, And each morning wears a new one; Where's the wonder now? BRISK. Short, but there's salt in't; my way of writing, egad. SCENE XI. [_To them_] FOOTMAN. LADY FROTH. How now? FOOT. Your ladyship's chair is come. LADY FROTH. Is nurse and the child in it? FOOT. Yes, madam. LADY FROTH. O the dear creature! Let's go see it. LORD FROTH. I swear, my dear, you'll spoil that child, with sending it to and again so often; this is the seventh time the chair has gone for her to-day. LADY FROTH. O law! I swear it's but the sixth--and I haven't seen her these two hours. The poor creature--I swear, my lord, you don't love poor little Sapho. Come, my dear Cynthia, Mr. Brisk, we'll go see Sapho, though my lord won't. CYNT. I'll wait upon your ladyship. BRISK. Pray, madam, how old is Lady Sapho? LADY FROTH. Three-quarters, but I swear she has a world of wit, and can sing a tune already. My lord, won't you go? Won't you? What! not to see Saph? Pray, my lord, come see little Saph. I knew you could not stay. SCENE XII. CYNTHIA _alone_. CYNT. 'Tis not so hard to counterfeit joy in the depth of affliction, as to dissemble mirth in company of fools. Why should I call 'em fools? The world thinks better of 'em; for these have quality and education, wit and fine conversation, are received and admired by the world. If not, they like and admire themselves. And why is not that true wisdom? for 'tis happiness: and for ought I know, we have misapplied the name all this while, and mistaken the thing: since If happiness in self-content is placed, The wise are wretched, and fools only bless'd. ACT IV. SCENE I. MELLEFONT _and_ CYNTHIA. CYNT. I heard him loud as I came by the closet-door, and my lady with him, but she seemed to moderate his passion. MEL. Ay, hell thank her, as gentle breezes moderate a fire; but I shall counter-work her spells, and ride the witch in her own bridle. CYNT. It's impossible; she'll cast beyond you still. I'll lay my life it will never be a match. MEL. What? CYNT. Between you and me. MEL. Why so? CYNT. My mind gives me it won't, because we are both willing. We each of us strive to reach the goal, and hinder one another in the race. I swear it never does well when the parties are so agreed; for when people walk hand in hand there's neither overtaking nor meeting. We hunt in couples, where we both pursue the same game but forget one another; and 'tis because we are so near that we don't think of coming together. MEL. Hum, 'gad I believe there's something in it. Marriage is the game that we hunt, and while we think that we only have it in view, I don't see but we have it in our power.