Rho. The devil’s in me, that I must love this woman. [Aside.

Pala. The devil’s in me, that I must marry this woman. [Aside.

Mel. [Raising her voice.] So the prince and I—­But you must make a secret of this, my dear; for I would not for the world your husband should hear it, or my tyrant, there, that must be.

Pala. Well, fair impertinent, your whisper is not lost, we hear you.
          
                                                   [Aside.

Dor. I understand then, that—­

Mel. I’ll tell you, my dear, the prince took me by the hand, and pressed it a la derobbee, because the king was near, made the doux yeux to me, and, ensuite, said a thousand gallantries, or let me die, my dear.

Dor. Then I am sure you—­

Mel. You are mistaken, my dear.

Dor. What, before I speak?

Mel. But I know your meaning.  You think, my dear, that I assumed something of fierte into my countenance, to rebute, him; but, quite contrary, I regarded him,—­I know not how to express it in our dull Sicilian language,—­d’un air enjouee; and said nothing but ad autre, ad autre, and that it was all grimace, and would not pass upon me.

  Enter ARTEMIS:  MELANTHA sees her, and runs away from DORALICE.

[To ARTEMIS.] My dear, I must beg your pardon, I was just making a loose from Doralice, to pay my respects to you.  Let me die, if I ever pass time so agreeably as in your company, and if I would leave it for any lady’s in Sicily.

Arte. The princess Amalthea is coming this way.

  Enter AMALTHEA:  MELANTHA runs to her.

Mel. O, dear madam!  I have been at your lodging in my new galeche, so often, to tell you of a new amour, betwixt two persons whom you would little suspect for it, that, let me die if one of my coach-horses be not dead, and another quite tired, and sunk under the fatigue.

Amal. O, Melantha, I can tell you news; the prince is coming this way.

Mel. The prince?  O sweet prince!  He and I are to—­and I forgot it.—­ Your pardon, sweet madam, for my abruptness.—­Adieu, my dear servant,—­Rhodophil.—­Servant, servant, servant all. [Exit running.

Amal. Rhodophil, a word with you. [Whispers.

Dor. [To PALA.] Why do you not follow your mistress, sir?

Pala. Follow her?  Why, at this rate she’ll be at the Indies within this half hour.

Dor. However, if you cannot follow her all day, you will meet her at night, I hope?

Pala. But can you, in charity, suffer me to be so mortified, without affording me some relief?  If it be but to punish that sign of a husband there, that lazy matrimony, that dull insipid taste, who leaves such delicious fare at home, to dine abroad on worse meat, and pay dear for it into the bargain.