Mel.  But does he love you seriously?

Olin.  Seriously?—­I know not that; if he did, perhaps I should not love him:  But we sit and talk, and wrangle, and are friends; when we are together, we never hold our tongues; and then we have always a noise of fiddles at our heels; he hunts me merrily, as the hound does the hare; and either this is love, or I know it not.

Mel.  Well, go back, and call Sabina to me.

[OLINDA goes behind.

This is a riddle past my finding out:  Whether he loves her, or no, is the question; but this, I am sure of, she loves him:—­O my little favourite, I must ask you a question concerning Celadon:  is he in love with you?

Sab.  I think, indeed, he does not hate me; at least, if a man’s word may be taken for it.

Mel.  But what expressions has he made you?

Sab.  Truly, the man has done his part:  He has spoken civilly to me, and I was not so young but I understood him.

Mel.  And you could be content to marry him?

Sab.  I have sworn never to marry:  besides he’s a wild young man; yet, to obey you, mother, I would be content to be sacrificed.

Mel.  No, no, we would but lead you to the altar.

Sab.  Not to put off the gentleman neither; for if I have him not, I am resolved to die a maid, that’s once, mother.

Mel.  Both my daughters are in love with him, and I cannot yet find he loves either of them.

Olin.  Mother, mother, yonder’s Celadon in the walks.

Mel.  Peace, wanton; you had best ring the bells for joy.  Well, I’ll not meet him, because I know not which to offer him; yet he seems to like the youngest best:  I’ll give him opportunity with her.  Olinda, do you make haste after me.

Olin.  This is something hard though.

[Exit MEL.

Enter CELADON.

Cel.  You see, ladies, the least breath of yours brings me to you:  I have been seeking you at your lodgings, and from thence came hither after you.

Sab.  ’Twas well you found us.

Cel.  Found you! half this brightness betwixt you two was enough to have lighted me; I could never miss my way:  Here’s fair Olinda has beauty enough for one family; such a voice, such a wit, so noble a stature, so white a skin!—­

Olin.  I thought he would be particular at last. [Aside.

Cel.  And young Sabina, so sweet an innocence, such a rose-bud newly blown.  This is my goodly palace of love, and that my little withdrawing room.  A word, madam.—­[To SAB.

Olin.  I like not this—­[Aside.] Sir, if you are not too busy with my sister, I would speak with you.

Cel.  I come, madam.

Sab.  Time enough, sir; pray finish your discourse—­and as you were a saying, sir,—­