_Sir Wil_. That you are jealous of me? _W. Green_. Jealous! _Sir Wil_. To very lunacy. _W. Green_. To hear him! _Sir Wil_. Do you forget what happened yesterday? _W. Green_. Sir William Fondlove!-- _Sir Wil_. Widow Green, fair play!-- Are you not laughing? Is it not a jest? Do you believe me seventy to a day? Do I look it? Am I old and ugly? Why, Why do I see those favours in the hall, These ladies dressed as bridemaids, thee as bride, Unless to marry me? [Knock.] _W. Green_. He is coming, sir, Shall answer you for me! [Enter WALLER, with Gentlemen as Bridemen.] _Wal_. Where is she? What! All that bespeaks the day, except the fair That's queen of it? Most kind of you to grace My nuptials so! But that I render you My thanks in full, make full my happiness, And tell me where's my bride? _W. Green_. She's here. _Wal_. Where? _W. Green_. Here, Fair Master Waller! _Wal_. Lady, do not mock me. _W. Green_. Mock thee! My heart is stranger to such mood, 'Tis serious tenderness and duty all. I pray you mock not me, for I do strive With fears and soft emotions that require Support. Take not away my little strength, And leave me at the mercy of a feather. I am thy bride! If 'tis thy happiness To think me so, believe it, and be rich To thy most boundless wishes! Master Waller, I am thy waiting bride, the Widow Green! _Wal_. Lady, no widow is the bride I seek, But one the church has never given yet The nuptial blessing to! _W. Green_. What mean you, sir? Why come a bridegroom here, if not to me You sued to be your bride? Is this your hand, sir? [Showing letter.] _Wal_. It is, addressed to your fair waiting-maid. _W. Green_. My waiting-maid! The laugh is passing round, And now the turn is yours, sir. She is gone! Eloped! run off! and with the gentleman That brought your billet-doux. _Wal_. Is Trueworth false? He must be false. What madness tempted me To trust him with such audience as I knew Must sense, and mind, and soul of man entrance, And leave him but the power to feel its spell! Of his own lesson he would profit take, And plead at once an honourable love, Supplanting mine, less pure, reformed too late! And if he did, what merit I, except To lose the maid I would have wrongly won; And, had I rightly prized her, now had worn! I get but my deservings! [Enter TRUEWORTH, leading in LYDIA, richly dressed, and veiled front head to foot.] Master Trueworth, Though for thy treachery thou hast excuse, Thou must account for it; so much I lose! Sir, you have wronged me to amount beyond Acres, and gold, and life, which makes them rich. And compensation I demand of you, Such as a man expects, and none but one That's less than man refuses! Where's the maid You falsely did abstract?