Flo.  Well, then, because you are but a beginner, and I would not discourage you, any of these shall serve your turn, in a fair way.

Cel.  I am much deceiv’d in those eyes of yours, if a treat, a song, and the fiddles, be not a more acceptable proof of love to you, than any of those tragical ones you have mentioned.

Flo.  However, you will grant it is but decent you should be pale, and lean, and melancholick, to shew you are in love:  And that I shall require of you when I see you next.

Cel.  When you see me next?  Why you do not make a rabbit of me, to be lean at twenty-four hours warning? in the mean while, we burn day-light, lose time and love.

Flo.  Would you marry me without consideration?

Cel.  To chuse, by heaven; for they that think on’t, twenty to one would never do it.  Hang forecast! to make sure of one good night is as much in reason, as a man should expect from this ill world.

Flo.  Methinks, a few more years and discretion would do well:  I do not like this going to bed so early; it makes one so weary before morning.

Cel.  That’s much as your pillow is laid, before you go to sleep.

Flo.  Shall I make a proposition to you?  I will give you a whole year of probation to love me in; to grow reserved, discreet, sober, and faithful, and to pay me all the services of a lover—­

Cel.  And at the end of it, you’ll marry me?

Flo.  If neither of us alter our minds before.

Cel.  By this light a necessary clause.  But if I pay in all the foresaid services before the day, you shall be obliged to take me sooner into mercy.

Flo.  Provided, if you prove unfaithful, then your time of a twelve-month to be prolonged; so many services, I will bate you so many days or weeks; so many faults, I will add to your ’prenticeship so much more:  And of all this, I only to be judge.

Enter PHILOCLES and LYSIMANTES.

Lys.  Is the queen this way, madam?

Flo.  I’ll see, so please your highness:  Follow me, captive.

Cel.  March on, conqueror—­[She pulls him.

[Exeunt CEL.  FLO.

Lys.  You’re sure her majesty will not oppose it?

Phil.  Leave that to me, my lord.

Lys.  Then, tho’ perhaps my sister’s birth might challenge
An higher match,
I’ll weigh your merits, on the other side,
To make the balance even.

Phil.  I go, my lord, this minute.

Lys.  My best wishes wait on you. [Exit LYSIMANTES.

Enter the Queen and ASTERIA.

Queen.  Yonder he is; have I no other way?

Ast.  O madam, you must stand this brunt: 
Deny him now, and leave the rest to me: 
I’ll to Candiope’s mother,
And, under the pretence of friendship, work
On her ambition to put off a match
So mean as Philocles.