Love shall have part, but love shall not have all. 
Ambition, Pleasure, Vanity, all by turns,
Shall lie in my bed, and keep me fresh and waking;
Yet Love not be excluded.  Foolish wench,
I could have loved her twenty years to come,
And still have kept my liking.  But since ’tis so,
Why, fare thee well, old playfellow!  I’ll try
To squeeze a tear for old acquaintance’ sake. 
I shall not grudge so much——­

          To him enters LOVEL.

Lovel.  Bless us, Woodvil! what is the matter?  I protest, man, I thought you had been weeping.

Wood.  Nothing is the matter; only the wench has forced some water into my eyes, which will quickly disband.

Lovel.  I cannot conceive you.

Wood.  Margaret is flown.

Lovel.  Upon what pretence?

Wood.  Neglect on my part:  which it seems she has had the wit to discover, maugre all my pains to conceal it.

Lovel.  Then, you confess the charge?

Wood.  To say the truth, my love for her has of late stopped short on this side idolatry.

Lovel.  As all good Christians’ should, I think.

Wood.  I am sure, I could have loved her still within the limits of warrantable love.

Lovel.  A kind of brotherly affection, I take it.

Wood.  We should have made excellent man and wife in time.

Lovel.  A good old couple, when the snows fell, to crowd about a sea-coal fire, and talk over old matters.

Wood.  While each should feel, what neither cared to acknowledge, that stories oft-repeated may, at last, come to lose some of their grace by the repetition.

Lovel.  Which both of you may yet live long enough to discover.  For, take my word for it, Margaret is a bird that will come back to you without a lure.

Wood.  Never, never, Lovel.  Spite of my levity, with tears I confess it, she was a lady of most confirmed honor, of an unmatchable spirit, and determinate in all virtuous resolutions; not hasty to anticipate an affront, nor slow to feel, where just provocation was given.

Lovel.  What made you neglect her, then?

Wood.  Mere levity and youthfulness of blood, a malady incident to young men; physicians call it caprice.  Nothing else.  He that slighted her knew her value:  and ’tis odds, but, for thy sake, Margaret, John will yet go to his grave a bachelor.

[A noise heard, as of one drunk and singing.

Lovel.  Here comes one, that will quickly dissipate these humors.

Enter one drunk.

Drunken Man.  Good-morrow to you, gentlemen.  Mr. Lovel, I am your humble servant.  Honest Jack Woodvil, I will get drunk with you to-morrow.

Wood.  And why to-morrow, honest Mr. Freeman?