La.  You must be wise in your excuse, to quit His importunitie.

Fra.  Leave that to me: 
I weare not worth the name of him that serv’d you
To loose my glorious hope for want of such
A thinne device.  In your thought wish me prosper,
And I am fortifide against the power
Of fate to seperate us; and when thou art
Within the amorous circle of my armes,
We will make lawes to love; teach him new motion
Or chaine[247] him with the cordage of his haire,
Like a tame thing, to walke, and watch our pillow
And be our pleasures Centinell.

La.  I see My husband; tis not safe he should observe us:  Be wise and constant. [Exit Lady.

Fra.  All that’s sweet attend thee. 
So I am sailing now to my owne Indies,
And see the happie Coast, too:  How my wings
Doe spread to catch the wind which comes to court ’em,
And the green Sea, enamour’d on my barke,
Doth leap to see how Cupid sitts at helme. 
And steeres my soule to his new world.

    Enter Sir Richard and Engine.

Ri.  A monopolie say you For Perriwigs?

En.  Is’t not a rare designe? and by such art
And reasons I can name, most beneficiall
To the common wealth, preventing the diseases
Which some unwholsome haire breeds in mens heads,
It will be worth our agitation, Sir;
And you, after the rate of every thousand
Per Annum milk’d out of the comon purse
Into your owne, may easily defaulke
To me a hundred for my first projection. 
Did I not love you, Sir, I could make choice
Of other able men that would be glad
To multiplie their money.

Ri.  Sir, I thanke you,
But have no mind to thrive upon abuse of
My princes favour nor the peoples curse. 
Here is a gentleman, Sir Francis Courtwell,
Perhapps will undertake it.

Fra.  What, Sir Richard?

Ri.  A Monopolie for composeing and selling of perriwiggs.

Fra.  Excuse me, Sir, I dare not deale in ’em. 
If I be not mistaken, Sir, your name
Is Engine?

En.  Yes, Sir.

Fra.  The proiector generall? 
If I may advise you, Sir, you should make your will,
Take some convenient phisick and dye tymely
To save your credit, and an execution: 
It is thought else—­

En.  Oh—­

Fra.  What aile you, Sir?

En.  A Megrim in my head.

Ri.  Whoes there?

    Enter Thomas.

Looke to Mr. Engine heere, he faints, and send
To your Ladie for some Cordiall waters presently.

Tho.  There is a Soveraigne Well hard by has done
Strange cures:  please you, ile throw him into that.
               Ext. [Thomas; carrying away Engine.

Ri.  Though I distast his busines I wod not
He should miscarry here; you frighted him. 
But come, I thinke tis supper tyme, Sir Francis. 
I shall expect youle hunt with me i’th morning;
I have a pack of Doggs sent me will make
The Forrest ring.