By the Lustre, which is true,
  Ne’er to break your sacred Vow. 
  Lastly, by the Gold that’s try’d,
  For Love all Dangers to abide_.

They all dance about him, while those same two sing.

Man. Once about him let us move,
      To confirm him true to Love. [bis.

Pert. Twice with mystick turning Feet,
      Make him silent and discreet. [bis.

Man. Thrice about him let us tread,
      To keep him ever young in Bed. [bis.

Gives him another part.

Man. Forget Aminta’s proud Disdain;
      Haste here, and sigh no more in vain,
      The Joy of Love without the Pain.

Pert. That God repents his former Slights,
      And Fortune thus your Faith requites.

Both. Forget Aminta’s proud Disdain;
      Then taste, and sigh no more in vain,
      The Joy of Love without the Pain,
      The Joy of Love without the Pain.

          [Exeunt all Dancers.  Looks on himself, and feels about him.

Gay.  What the Devil can all this mean?  If there be a Woman in the Case—­sure I have not liv’d so bad a Life, to gain the dull Reputation of so modest a Coxcomb, but that a Female might down with me, without all this Ceremony.  Is it care of her Honour?—­that cannot be—­this Age affords none so nice:  Nor Fiend nor Goddess can she be, for these I saw were Mortal.  No—­’tis a Woman—­I am positive.  Not young nor handsom, for then Vanity had made her glory to have been seen.  No—­since ’tis resolved, a Woman—­she must be old and ugly, and will not balk my Fancy with her sight, but baits me more with this essential Beauty.

  Well—­be she young or old, Woman or Devil,
  She pays, and I’ll endeavour to be civil.

[Exit.

SCENE V. In the same House.  The flat Scene of the Hall.

    After a Knocking, enter Bredwel in his masking Habit, with
    his Vizard in the one Hand, and a Light in t’other, in haste.

Bred.  Hah, knocking so late at our Gate—­
                                   [Opens the door.

    Enter Sir Feeble drest, and arm’d Cap-a-pee, with a broad
    Waste-Belt stuck round with Pistols, a Helmet, Scarf, Buff-coat
    and half Pike.

Sir Feeb.  How now, how now, what’s the matter here?

Bred.  Matter, what, is my Lady’s innocent Intrigue found out?—­ Heavens, Sir, what makes you here in this warlike Equipage?

Sir Feeb.  What makes you in this showing Equipage, Sir?

Bred.  I have been dancing among some of my Friends.

Sir Feeb.  And I thought to have been fighting with some of my Friends. 
Where’s Sir Cautious, where’s Sir Cautious?

Bred.  Sir Cautious—­Sir, in Bed.