_Wit._ Madam, let me fall at your Feet, and thank you for this Bounty.--Make it your own case, and then consider what returns ought to be made to the most passionate and faithful of Lovers. [Kneels. Sir _Pat._ I profess a wonderful good natur’d Youth, this; rise, Sir, my Lady _Fancy_ shall do you all the kind Offices she can, o’ my word, she shall. L. _Fan._ I’m all Obedience, Sir, and doubtless shall obey you. Sir _Pat._ You must, indeed you must; and, Sir, I’ll defer your Happiness no longer, this Day you shall be marry’d. _Wit._ This Day, Sir!--why, the Writings are not made. Sir _Pat._ No matter, Mr. _Fainlove_; her Portion shall be equivalent to the Jointure you shall make her, I take it, that’s sufficient. _Wit._ A Jointure, quoth he! it must be in new _Eutopian_ Land then.--And must I depart thus, without a kind Word, a Look, or a Billet, to signify what I am to expect. [Looking on her slily. Sir _Pat._ Come, my Lady _Fancy_, shall I wait on you down to Prayer! Sir, you will get your self in order for your Marriage, the great Affair of human Life; I must to my Morning’s Devotion: Come, Madam. [She endeavours to make Signs to _Wittmore_. L. _Fan._ Alas, Sir, the sad Discourse you lately made me, has so disorder’d me, and given me such a Pain in my Head, I am not able to endure the Psalm-singing. Sir _Pat._ This comes of your Weeping; but we’ll omit that part of th’ Exercise, and have no Psalm sung. L. _Fan._ Oh, by no means, Sir, ‘twill scandalize the Brethren; for you know a Psalm is not sung so much out of Devotion, as ‘tis to give notice of our Zeal and pious Intentions: ‘tis a kind of Proclamation to the Neighbourhood, and cannot be omitted.--Oh, how my Head aches! _Wit._ He were a damn’d dull Lover, that cou’d not guess what she meant by this. [Aside. Sir _Pat._ Well, my Lady _Fancy_, your Ladyship shall be obey’d,--come, Sir, we’ll leave her to her Women. [Exit Sir _Pat._ [As _Wittmore_ goes out, he bows and looks on her; she gives him a Sign. _Wit._ That kind Look is a sufficient Invitation. [Exit. L. _Fan._ _Maundy_, follow ‘em down, and bring _Wittmore_ back again.-- [Exit _Maun._] There’s now a necessity of our contriving to avoid this Marriage handsomly,--and we shall at least make two Hours our own; I never wish’d well to long Prayers till this Minute. Enter _Wittmore_. _Wit._ Oh my dear _Lucia_! L. _Fan._ Oh _Wittmore_! I long to tell thee what a fatal Mistake had like to have happened last Night. _Wit._ My Friend has told me all, and how he was prevented by the coming of your Husband from robbing me of those sacred Delights I languish for. Oh, let us not lose inestimable Time in dull talking; but haste to give each other the only Confirmation we can give, how little we are our own. L. _Fan._ I see _Lodwick’s_ a Man of Honour, and deserves a Heart if I had one to give him. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Hall. Enter Sir _Patient_ and _Roger_.