CYNT. Nay, I have known two wits meet, and by the opposition of their wit render themselves as ridiculous as fools. 'Tis an odd game we're going to play at. What think you of drawing stakes, and giving over in time? MEL. No, hang't, that's not endeavouring to win, because it's possible we may lose; since we have shuffled and cut, let's even turn up trump now. CYNT. Then I find it's like cards, if either of us have a good hand it is an accident of fortune. MEL. No, marriage is rather like a game at bowls: fortune indeed makes the match, and the two nearest, and sometimes the two farthest, are together, but the game depends entirely upon judgment. CYNT. Still it is a game, and consequently one of us must be a loser. MEL. Not at all; only a friendly trial of skill, and the winnings to be laid out in an entertainment. What's here, the music? Oh, my lord has promised the company a new song; we'll get 'em to give it us by the way. [_Musicians crossing the stage_.] Pray let us have the favour of you, to practise the song before the company hear it. SONG. I. Cynthia frowns whene'er I woo her, Yet she's vext if I give over; Much she fears I should undo her, But much more to lose her lover: Thus, in doubting, she refuses; And not winning, thus she loses. II. Prithee, Cynthia, look behind you, Age and wrinkles will o'ertake you; Then too late desire will find you, When the power must forsake you: Think, O think o' th' sad condition, To be past, yet wish fruition. MEL. You shall have my thanks below. [_To the musicians_, _they go out_.] SCENE IV. [_To them_] SIR PAUL PLYANT _and_ LADY PLYANT. SIR PAUL. Gadsbud! I am provoked into a fermentation, as my Lady Froth says; was ever the like read of in story? LADY PLYANT. Sir Paul, have patience, let me alone to rattle him up. SIR PAUL. Pray, your ladyship, give me leave to be angry. I'll rattle him up, I warrant you, I'll firk him with a _certiorari_. LADY PLYANT. You firk him, I'll firk him myself; pray, Sir Paul, hold you contented. CYNT. Bless me, what makes my father in such a passion? I never saw him thus before. SIR PAUL. Hold yourself contented, my Lady Plyant. I find passion coming upon me by inflation, and I cannot submit as formerly, therefore give way. LADY PLYANT. How now! will you be pleased to retire and-- SIR PAUL. No, marry will I not be pleased: I am pleased to be angry, that's my pleasure at this time. MEL. What can this mean? LADY PLYANT. Gads my life, the man's distracted; why, how now, who are you? What am I? Slidikins, can't I govern you? What did I marry you for? Am I not to be absolute and uncontrollable? Is it fit a woman of my spirit and conduct should be contradicted in a matter of this concern?