Fal.  Leave thy simple fancies, and go about thy business.

Lab.  I am gone; but hark, my Lord, If I should say your Face were wounded, The Ladies would fear you had lost your Beauty.

Fal.  O, never trouble your head for that, Aminta Is a Wit, and your Wits care not how ill-favour’d Their Men be, the more ugly the better.

Lab.  An’t be so, you’ll fit them to a hair.

Fal.  Thou art a Coxcomb, to think a man of my
Quality needs the advantage of Handsomness: 
A trifle as insignificant as Wit or Valour; poor
Nothings, which Men of Fortune ought to despise.

Lab.  Why do you then keep such a stir, to gain The reputation of this thing you so despise?

Fal.  To please the peevish humour of a Woman, Who in that point only is a Fool.

Lab.  You had a Mistress once, if you have not Forgotten her, who would have taken you with All these faults.

Fal.  There was so; but she was poor, that’s the Devil, I could have lov’d her else.  —­But go thy ways; what dost thou muse on?

Lab.  Faith, Sir, I am only fearful you will never Pass with those Patches you speak of.

Fal.  Thou never-to-be-reclaim’d Ass, shall I never
Bring thee to apprehend as thou ought’st?  I tell thee,
I will pass and repass, where and how I please;
Know’st thou not the difference yet, between a Man
Of Money and Titles, and a Man of only Parts,
As they call them? poor Devils of no Mein nor Garb: 
Well, ’tis a fine and frugal thing, this Honour,
It covers a multitude of Faults: 
Even Ridicule in one of us is a-la-mode. 
But I detain thee; go haste to Aminta.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.  Galatea’s Apartments.

        Enter Galatea, Aminta, and Olinda.

Gal.  Will Erminia come?

Oli.  Madam, I thought she’d been already here.

Gal.  But prithee how does she support this news?

Oli.  Madam, as those unreconciled to Heaven Would bear the pangs of death.

Am.  Time will convince her of that foolish error, Of thinking a brisk young Husband a torment.

Gal.  What young Husband?

Am.  The General, Madam.

Gal.  Why, dost thou think she will consent to it?

Am.  Madam, I cannot tell, the World’s inconstant.

Gal.  Ay, Aminta, in every thing but Love;
And sure they cannot be in that: 
What say’st thou, Olinda?

Oli.  Madam, my Judgment’s naught. 
Love I have treated as a stranger Guest,
Receiv’d him well, not lodg’d him in my Breast. 
I ne’er durst give the unknown Tyrant room;
Lest he should make his resting place his home.

Gal.  Then thou art happy; but if Erminia fail, I shall not live to reproach her.