_Theo._ [_To_ BEL.] You should not have had my consent so soon, but only to revenge myself upon the falseness of Don Melchor. _Aur._ I must avow, that gratitude for Don Lopez is as prevalent with me, as revenge against Don Melchor. _Alon._ Lent, you know, begins to-morrow; when that's over, marriage will be proper. _Jac._ If I stay till after Lent, I shall be to marry when I have no love left: I'll not bate you an ace of to-night, father; I mean to bury this man ere Lent be done, and get me another before Easter. _Alon._ Well, make a night on't then. [_Giving his daughters._ _Wild._ Jacintha Wildblood, welcome to me: Since our stars have doomed it so, we cannot help it; but 'twas a mere trick of fate, to catch us thus at unawares; to draw us in, with a what do you lack, as we passed by: Had we once separated to-night, we should have had more wit, than ever to have met again to-morrow. _Jac._ 'Tis true, we shot each other flying: We were both upon the wing, I find; and, had we passed this critical minute, I should have gone for the Indies, and you for Greenland, ere we had met in a bed, upon consideration. _Mask._ You have quarrelled twice to-night without bloodshed; beware the third time. Jac. _Apropos!_ I have been retrieving an old song of a lover, that was ever quarrelling with his mistress: I think it will fit our amour so well, that, if you please, I'll give it you for an epithalamium; and you shall sing it. [_Gives him a paper._ _Wild._ I never sung in all my life; nor ever durst try, when I was alone, for fear of braying. _Jac._ Just me, up and down; but for a frolic, let's sing together; for I am sure, if we cannot sing now, we shall never have cause when we are married. _Wild._ Begin then; give me my key, and I'll set my voice to't. _Jac._ Fa la, fa la, fa la. _Wild._ Fala, fala, fala. Is this your best, upon the faith of a virgin? _Jac._ Ay, by the muses, I am at my pitch. _Wild._ Then do your worst; and let the company be judge who sings worst. _Jac._ Upon condition the best singer shall wear the breeches. Prepare to strip, sir; I shall put you into your drawers presently. _Wild._ I shall be revenged, with putting you into your smock anon; St George for me. _Jac._ St James for me: Come, start, sir. SONG. Damon. _Celimena, of my heart None shall e'er bereave you: If, with your good leave, I may Quarrel with you once a day, I will never leave you._ Celimena. _Passion's but an empty name, Where respect is wanting: Damon, you mistake your aim; Hang your heart, and burn your flame, If you must be ranting._