Fal.  No, no, Sir, I am not the man she meant.

Alcan.  No matter, thou wilt serve as well.  A Lover! and canst disobey thy Mistress?

Fal.  I do disown her, since she is so wicked
To bid me kill my Friend. 
Why, thou’rt my Friend, Alcander.

Alcan.  I’ll forgive thee that.

Fal.  So will not his Majesty:  I may be hang’d for’t.

Alcan.  Thou should’st be damn’d e’er disobey thy Mistress.

Fal.  These be degrees of Love I am not yet arriv’d at; When I am, I shall be as ready to be damn’d In honour as any Lover of you all.

Alcan.  Ounds, Sir, d’ye railly with me?

Fal.  Your pardon, sweet Alcander, I protest I am Not in so gay an humour.

Alcan.  Farewell, I had forgot my self.
                                     [Exit.

Fal.  Stark mad, by Jove—­yet it may be not, for Alcander has
  many unaccountable humours. 
Well, if this be agreeable to Aminta, she’s e’en as mad
As he, and ’twere great pity to part them.

Enter Pisaro, Aminta, and Olinda.

Am.  Well, have you kill’d him?

Fal.  Some wiser than some, Madam. 
—­My Lord—­what, alive?—­
        [Sees Pisaro, runs to him, and embraces him.

Pis.  Worth two dead men, you see.

Fal.  That’s more than I could have said within This half hour. Alcander’s very Orlando, by Jove, and gone To seek out one that’s madder yet than himself That will kill him.

Am.  Oh, dear Falatius, run and fetch him back.

Fal.  Madam, I have so lately ’scap’d a scouring,
That I wish you would take it for a mark
Of my Passion to disobey you;
For he is in a damn’d humour.

Am.  He’s out of it by this, I warrant you; But do not tell him that Pisaro lives.

Fal.  That’s as I shall find occasion.
                                 [Exit Fal.

Pis.  Alcander is a worthy Youth and brave,
I wish you would esteem him so;
’Tis true, there’s now some difference between us,
Our Interests are dispos’d to several ways,
But Time and Management will join us all: 
I’ll leave you; but prithee make it thy business
To get my Pardon for last night’s rudeness.

Am.  I shall not fail.

[Exit Pis.

Re-enter Falatius, with Alcander melancholy.

Fal.  Here, Madam, here he is.

Am.  Tell me, Alcander, why you treat me thus?  You say you love me, if I could believe you.

Alcan.  Believe a Man! away, you have no wit, I’ll say as much to every pretty Woman.

Am.  But I have given you no cause to wrong me.