_Clo._ Not know me yet? cannot this Face inform him? My Sighs, nor Eyes, my Accent, nor my Tale? Had he one thought of me, he must have found me out. --Yes, yes, ‘tis certain I am miserable; He’s going now to see some fresher Beauties, And I, he says, must be a witness of it; This gives me Wounds, painful as those of Love: Some Women now would find a thousand Plots From so much Grief as I have, but I’m dull; Yet I’ll to _Laura_, and advise with her, Where I will tell her such a heavy Tale, As shall oblige her to a kind concern: --This may do; I’ll tell her of this Thought, This is the first of Art I ever thought on; And if this proves a fruitless Remedy, The next, I need not study, how to die. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Street. Enter _Lorenzo_, meets _Guilliam_, who passes by him, and takes no notice of him. _Lor._ How now, Manners a few? _Guil._ I cry you heartily, Sir, I did not see you. _Lor._ Well, Sirrah, the News. _Guil._ Sir, the Gentlewoman whom you sent me to says That she’ll meet you here. _Lor._ That’s well, thou mayst come to be a States-man In time, thou art a fellow of so quick dispatch: But hark ye, Sirrah, there are a few Lessons I must learn you, Concerning Offices of this nature; But another time for that: but-- [Whispers. Enter _Isabella_, and _Antonio’s Valet_. _Isab._ Here he is; and prithee, when thou seest him in My Chamber, go and tell my Lord, Under pretence of the care you have of the Honour of his House. _Val._ I warrant you, let me alone for a Tale, And a Lye at the end on’t; which shall not over-much Incense him, nor yet make him neglect coming. [Ex. _Val._ _Lor._ Oh, are you there, Mistress? what have you now To say for your last Night’s Roguery? Are not you a Baggage? confess. _Isab._ You have a mind to lose your opportunity again, As you did last Night, have ye not? Pray God your own Shadow scare you not, As it did then; and you will possibly believe No body meant you harm then, nor now. _Lor._ Art thou in earnest? _Isab._ Are you in earnest? _Lor._ Yes, that I am, and that _Clarina_ shall find, If I once come to her. _Isab._ Come, leave your frippery Jests, and come in. _Lor._ _Guilliam_, be sure you attend me here, And whoever you see, say nothing; the best on’t is, Thou art not much known. [_Isab._ and _Lor._ go in. _Guil._ Well, I see there is nothing but foutering In this Town; wou’d our _Lucia_ were here too for me, For all the Maids I meet with are so giglish And scornful, that a Man, as I am, Gets nothing but flouts and flings from them. Oh, for the little kind Lass that lives Under the Hill, of whom the Song was made; Which because I have nothing else to do, I will sing over now; hum, hum. The Song for _Guilliam_. [To some Tune like him.