_Cor_. If I shou’d be so kind-hearted, what good use wou’d you make of so obliging an Opportunity? _Gal_. That which the happy Night was first ordain’d for. _Cor_. Well, Signior, ‘tis coming on, and then I’ll try what Courage the Darkness will inspire me with:--till then--farewell.-- _Gal_. Till then a thousand times adieu.-- [_Blowing up kisses to her_. _Phil_. Ah, Madam, we’re undone,--yonder’s _Crapine_, your Uncle’s Valet. _Cor_. Now a Curse on him; shall we not have one night with our Cavaliers?--let’s retire, and continue to out-wit him, or never more pretend to’t. Adieu, Signior Cavalier--remember Night.-- _Gal_. Or may I lose my Sense to all Eternity. [_Kisses his fingers and bows, she returns it for a while. Exit_. Crap. _Lau_. Gods, that all this that looks at least like Love, Shou’d be dispens’d to one insensible! Whilst every syllable of that dear Value, Whisper’d to me, wou’d make my Soul all Extasy. [_Aside_. --Oh, spare that Treasure for a grateful Purchase; And buy that common Ware with trading Gold, Love is too rich a Price!--I shall betray my self.--[_Aside_. _Gal_. Away, that’s an heretical Opinion, and which This certain Reason must convince thee of; That Love is Love, wherever Beauty is, Nor can the Name of Whore make Beauty less. _Enter_ Marcella _like a Man, with a Cloke about her_. _Mar_. Signior, is your Name _Fillamour?_ _Fil_. It is, what wou’d you, Sir?-- Mar_. I have a Letter for you--from _Viterbo_, and your _Marcella_, Sir. [_Gives it him_. _Fil_. Hah--_Viterbo_! and _Marcella_! It shocks me like the Ghost of some forsaken Mistress, That met me in the way to Happiness, With some new long’d-for Beauty! [_Opens it, reads_. _Mar_. Now I shall try thy Virtue, and my Fate.-- [_Aside_. _Fil_. What is’t that checks the Joy, that shou’d surprize me at the receipt of this. _Gal_. How now! what’s the cold fit coming on? [_Pauses_. _Fil_. I have no power to go--where this--invites me-- By which I prove ‘tis no encrease of Flame that warms my Heart, But a new Fire just kindled from those Eyes-- Whose Rays I find more piercing than _Marcella’s_. _Gal_.--Ay, Gad, a thousand times--prithee, what’s the matter? _Mar_. Oh, this false-souled Man--wou’d I had leisure To be reveng’d for this Inconstancy! [_Aside_. _Fil_.--But still she wants that Virtue I admire.