Oli.  My Brother, Madam.

Am.  Now fie upon thee, is that all thy business?
                                      [Offers to go off.

Oli.  Stay, Madam, he dies for you.

Am.  He cannot do’t for any Woman living; But well—­it seems he speaks of Love to you; To me he does appear a very Statue.

Oli.  He nought but sighs and calls upon your name, And vows you are the cruell’st Maid that breathes.

Am.  Thou can’st not be in earnest sure.

Oli.  I’ll swear I am, and so is he.

Am.  Nay, thou hast a hard task on’t, to make
Vows to all the Women he makes love to;
Indeed I pity thee; ha, ha, ha.

Oli.  You should not laugh at those you have undone.

Aminta sings.

Hang Love, for I will never pine For any Man alive; Nor shall this jolly Heart of mine The thoughts of it receive; I will not purchase Slavery At such a dangerous rate; But glory in my Liberty, And laugh at Love and Fate.

Oli.  You’ll kill him by this cruelty.

Am.  What is’t thou call’st so? 
For I have hitherto given no denials,
Nor has he given me cause;
I have seen him wildly gaze upon me often,
And sometimes blush and smile, but seldom that;
And now and then found fault with my replies,
And wonder’d where the Devil lay that wit,
Which he believ’d no Judge of it could find.

Oli.  Faith, Madam, that’s his way of making love.

Am.  It will not take with me, I love a Man
Can kneel, and swear, and cry, and look submiss,
As if he meant indeed to die my Slave: 
Thy Brother looks—­but too much like a Conqueror. [Sighs.

Oli.  How, Aminta, can you sigh in earnest?

Am.  Yes, Olinda, and you shall know its meaning;
I love Alcander, and am not asham’d o’th’ secret,
But prithee do not tell him what I say. 
—­Oh, he’s a man made up of those Perfections,
Which I have often lik’d in several men;
And wish’d united to compleat some one,
Whom I might have the glory to o’ercome. 
—­His Mein and Person, but ’bove all his Humour,
That surly Pride, though even to me addrest,
Does strangely well become him.

Oli.  May I believe this?

Am.  Not if you mean to speak on’t, But I shall soon enough betray my self.

    Enter Falatius with a patch or two on his Face.

Falatius, welcome from the Wars; I’m glad to see y’ave scap’d the dangers of them.

Fal.  Not so well scap’d neither, Madam, but I Have left still a few testimonies of their Severity to me. [Points to his face.

Oli.  That’s not so well, believe me.

Fal.  Nor so ill, since they be such as render us
No less acceptable to your fair Eyes, Madam! 
But had you seen me when I gain’d them, Ladies,
In that heroick posture.