_Fal_. Devil, I see’t well enough by your continual Quarrels with him. _Am_. Is that so certain a proof? _Fal_. Ever while you live, you treat me too Well ever to hope. _Enter_ Alcander, _kneels, offers his Sword to_ Aminta. --What new Masquerade’s this? by _Jove, Alcander_ Has more tricks than a dancing Bear. _Am_. What mean you by this present? _Alcan_. Kill me. _Am_. What have you done to merit it? _Alcan_. Do not ask, but do’t. _Am_. I’ll have a reason first. _Alcan_. I think I’ve kill’d _Pisaro_. _Am_. My Brother dead! [_She falls into the arms of_ Oli. _Fal_. Madam, look up, ‘tis I that call. _Am_. I care not who thou beest, but if a Man, Revenge me on _Alcander_. [_She goes out with_ Oli. _Fal_. By _Jove_, she has mistook her Man, This ‘tis to be a Lover now: A Man’s never out of one broil or other; But I have more Wit than _Aminta_ this bout. [_Offers to go_. _Alcan_. Come back and do your duty e’er you go. [_Pulls him_. _Fal_. I owe you much, _Alcander_. _Alcan. Amimta_ said you should revenge her on me. _Fal_. Her Word’s not Law I hope. _Alcan_. And I’ll obey-- _Fal_. That may do much indeed. [Fal. _answers with great signs of fear_. _Alcan_. This, if thou wert a Man, she bad thee do, Why dost thou shake? _Fal_. No, no, Sir, I am not the man she meant. _Alcan_. No matter, thou wilt serve as well. A Lover! and canst disobey thy Mistress? _Fal_. I do disown her, since she is so wicked To bid me kill my Friend. Why, thou’rt my Friend, _Alcander_. _Alcan_. I’ll forgive thee that. _Fal_. So will not his Majesty: I may be hang’d for’t. _Alcan_. Thou should’st be damn’d e’er disobey thy Mistress. _Fal_. These be degrees of Love I am not yet arriv’d at; When I am, I shall be as ready to be damn’d In honour as any Lover of you all. _Alcan_. Ounds, Sir, d’ye railly with me? _Fal_. Your pardon, sweet _Alcander_, I protest I am Not in so gay an humour. _Alcan_. Farewell, I had forgot my self. [_Exit_. _Fal_. Stark mad, by _Jove_--yet it may be not, for _Alcander_ has many unaccountable humours. Well, if this be agreeable to _Aminta_, she’s e’en as mad As he, and ‘twere great pity to part them. _Enter_ Pisaro, Aminta, _and_ Olinda. _Am_. Well, have you kill’d him? _Fal_. Some wiser than some, Madam. --My Lord--what, alive?-- [_Sees_ Pisaro, _runs to him, and embraces him_. _Pis_. Worth two dead men, you see. _Fal_. That’s more than I could have said within This half hour. _Alcander’s_ very _Orlando_, by _Jove_, and gone To seek out one that’s madder yet than himself That will kill him. _Am_. Oh, dear _Falatius_, run and fetch him back. _Fal_. Madam, I have so lately ‘scap’d a scouring, That I wish you would take it for a mark Of my Passion to disobey you; For he is in a damn’d humour. _Am_. He’s out of it by this, I warrant you; But do not tell him that _Pisaro_ lives.