Flo.  Stand fair, mother—­

Cel.  What, with your hat on?  Lie thou there;—­and thou, too—­

[Plucks off her hat and peruke, and discovers FLORIMEL.

All.  Florimel!

Flo.  My kind mistresses, how sorry I am, I can do you no further service!  I think I had best resign you to Celadon, to make amends for me.

Cel.  Lord! what a misfortune it was, ladies, that the gentleman could not hold forth to you?

Olin.  We have lost Celadon too.

Mel.  Come away; this is past enduring. [Exeunt MEL. and OLIN.

Sab.  Well, if ever I believe a man to be a man, for the sake of a peruke and feather again.—­

Flo.  Come, Celadon, shall we make accounts even?  Lord! what a hanging-look was there? indeed, if you had been recreant to your mistress, or had forsworn your love, that sinner’s face had been but decent; but, for the virtuous, the innocent, the constant Celadon!

Cel.  This is not very heroic in you now, to insult over a man in his misfortunes; but take heed, you have robb’d me of my two mistresses; I shall grow desperately constant, and all the tempest of my love will fall upon your head:  I shall so pay you!—­

Flo.  Who, you pay me! you are a bankrupt, cast beyond all possibility of recovery.

Cel.  If I am a bankrupt, I’ll be a very honest one; when I cannot pay my debts, at least I’ll give you up the possession of my body.

Flo.  No, I’ll deal better with you; since you are unable to pay, I’ll give in your bond.

Enter PHILOCLES with a commanders staff in his hand, attended.

Phil.  Cousin, I am sorry I must take you from your company about an earnest business.

Flo.  There needs no excuse, my lord; we had despatched our affairs, and were just parting.

Cel.  Will you be going, sir? sweet sir,—­damn’d sir!—­I have but one word more to say to you.

Flo.  As I am a man of honour, I’ll wait on you some other time.

Cel.  By these breeches,—­

Flo.  Which, if I marry you, I am resolved to wear; put that into our bargain, and so adieu, sir.

[Exit FLO.

Phil.  Hark you, cousin,—­[They whisper.  You’ll see it exactly executed; I rely upon you.

Cel.  I shall not fail, my lord; may the conclusion of it prove happy to you. [Exit CEL.

PHILOCLES solus.

Wheree’er I cast about my wandering eyes,
Greatness lies ready in some shape to tempt me. 
The royal furniture in every room,
The guards, and the huge waving crowds of people,
All waiting for a sight of that fair queen,
Who makes a present of her love to me: 
Now tell me, Stoick! 
If all these with a wish might be made thine,
Would’st thou not truck thy ragged virtue for ’em? 
If glory was a bait, that angels swallow’d,
How then should souls allied to sense resist it?