Olin.  Uds my life! here’s the queen’s music just going to us; you shall decide your quarrel by a dance.

Sab.  Who stops the fiddles?

Cel.  Base and treble, by your leaves, we arrest you at these ladies’ suits.

Flo.  Come on, sirs, play me a jig; you shall see how I’ll baffle him.

DANCE.

Flo.  Your judgment, ladies.

Olin.  You, sir; you, sir:  This is the rarest gentleman!  I could live and die with him—­

Sab.  Lord, how he sweats! please you, sir, to make use of my handkerchief?

Olin.  You and I are merry, and just of an humour, sir; therefore we two should love one another.

Sab.  And you and I are just of an age, sir; and therefore, methinks, we should not hate one another.

Cel.  Then I perceive, ladies, I am a castaway, a reprobate, with you:  Why, ’faith, this is hard luck now, that I should be no less than one whole hour in getting your affections, and now must lose ’em in a quarter of it.

Olin.  No matter, let him rail; does the loss afflict you, sir?

Cel.  No, in faith, does it not; for if you had not forsaken me, I had you:  So the willows may flourish, for any branches I shall rob ’em of.

Sab.  However, we have the advantage to have left you; not you us.

Cel.  That’s only a certain nimbleness in nature, you women have, to be first inconstant; but if you had not made the more haste, the wind was veering too upon my weathercock:  The best on’t is, Florimel is worth both of you.

Flo.  ’Tis like she’ll accept of their leavings.

Cel.  She will accept on’t, and she shall accept on’t:  I think I know more than you of her mind, sir.

Enter MELISSA.

Mel.  Daughters, there’s a poor collation within, that waits for you.

Flo.  Will you walk, musty sir?

Cel.  No, marry, sir, I will not; I have surfeited of that old woman’s face already.

Flo.  Begin some frolic, then; what will you do for her?

Cel.  Faith, I am no dog, to show tricks for her; I cannot come aloft to an old woman.

Flo.  Dare you kiss her?

Cel.  I was never dared by any man.  By your leave, old madam—­ [He plucks off her ruff.

Mel.  Help! help! do you discover my nakedness?

Cel.  Peace, Tiffany! no harm! [He puts on the ruff.] Now, Sir, here’s Florimel’s health to you. [Kisses her.

Mel.  Away, sir!—­A sweet young man as you are, to abuse the gift of nature so!

Cel.  Good mother, do not commend me so; I am flesh and blood, and you do not know what you may pluck upon that reverend person of yours.—­Come on, follow your leader.

[Gives FLORIMEL the ruff; she puts it on.