_Fal_. Now am I in a very fine condition, A comfortable one, as I take it: I have ventur'd my Life to some purpose now; What confounded luck was this, that he of all men Living, should happen to be my Rival?
Well, I'll go visit _Aminta_, and see how She receives me.-- Why, where a duce hast thou dispos'd of _Enter_ Labree.
Thy self all this day? I will be bound to be Hang'd if thou hast not a hankering after Some young Wench; thou couldst never loiter Thus else; but I'll forgive thee now, and prithee go to My Lady _Aminta's_ Lodgings; kiss her hand From me; and tell her, I am just returned from The Campain: mark that word, Sirrah.
_Lab_. I shall, Sir, 'tis truth.
_Fal_. Well, that's all one; but if she should Demand any thing concerning me, (for Love's inquisitive) dost hear? as to my Valour, or so, Thou understand'st me; tell her I acted as a man that pretends to the glory of Serving her.
_Lab_. I warrant you, Sir, for a Speech.
_Fal_. Nay, thou mayst speak as well too much As too little; have a care of that, dost hear?
And if she ask what Wounds I have, dost mind me?
Tell her I have many, very many.
_Lab_. But whereabouts, Sir?
_Fal_. Let me see--let me see; I know not where To place them--I think in my Face.
_Lab_. By no means, Sir, you had much better Have them in your Posteriors: for then the Ladies Can never disprove you; they'll not look there.
_Fal_. The sooner, you Fool, for the Rarity on't.
_Lab_. Sir, the Novelty is not so great, I assure you.
_Fal_. Go to, y'are wicked; But I will have them in my Face.
_Lab_. With all my heart, Sir, but how?
_Fal_. I'll wear a patch or two there, and I'll Warrant you for pretending as much as any man; And who, you Fool, shall know the fallacy?
_Lab_. That, Sir, will all that know you, both in the Court and Camp.
_Fal_. Mark me, _Labree_, once for all; if thou takest Delight continually thus to put me in mind of My want of Courage, I shall undoubtedly Fall foul on thee, and give thee most fatal proofs Of more than thou expectest.
_Lab_. Nay, Sir, I have done, and do believe 'tis only I dare say you are a man of Prowess.
_Fal_. Leave thy simple fancies, and go about thy business.
_Lab_. I am gone; but hark, my Lord, If I should say your Face were wounded, The Ladies would fear you had lost your Beauty.
_Fal_. O, never trouble your head for that, _Aminta_ Is a Wit, and your Wits care not how ill-favour'd Their Men be, the more ugly the better.
_Lab_. An't be so, you'll fit them to a hair.
_Fal_. Thou art a Coxcomb, to think a man of my Quality needs the advantage of Handsomness: A trifle as insignificant as Wit or Valour; poor Nothings, which Men of Fortune ought to despise.
_Lab_. Why do you then keep such a stir, to gain The reputation of this thing you so despise?
_Fal_. To please the peevish humour of a Woman, Who in that point only is a Fool.
_Lab_. You had a Mistress once, if you have not Forgotten her, who would have taken you with All these faults.
_Fal_. There was so; but she was poor, that's the Devil, I could have lov'd her else.
--But go thy ways; what dost thou muse on?
_Lab_. Faith, Sir, I am only fearful you will never Pass with those Patches you speak of.
_Fal_. Thou never-to-be-reclaim'd Ass, shall I never Bring thee to apprehend as thou ought'st? I tell thee, I will pass and repass, where and how I please; Know'st thou not the difference yet, between a Man Of Money and Titles, and a Man of only Parts, As they call them? poor Devils of no Mein nor Garb: Well, 'tis a fine and frugal thing, this Honour, It covers a multitude of Faults: Even Ridicule in one of us is a-la-mode.
But I detain thee; go haste to _Aminta_.
[_Exeunt severally_.
SCENE II. Galatea's _Apartments_.
_Enter_ Galatea, Aminta, _and_ Olinda.
_Gal_. Will _Erminia_ come?
_Oli_. Madam, I thought she'd been already here.
_Gal_. But prithee how does she support this news?
_Oli_. Madam, as those unreconciled to Heaven Would bear the pangs of death.
_Am_. Time will convince her of that foolish error, Of thinking a brisk young Husband a torment.
_Gal_. What young Husband?
_Am_. The General, Madam.
_Gal_. Why, dost thou think she will consent to it?
_Am_. Madam, I cannot tell, the World's inconstant.
_Gal_. Ay, _Aminta_, in every thing but Love; And sure they cannot be in that: What say'st thou, _Olinda_?
_Oli_. Madam, my Judgment's naught.
Love I have treated as a stranger Guest, Receiv'd him well, not lodg'd him in my Breast.
I ne'er durst give the unknown Tyrant room; Lest he should make his resting place his home.
_Gal_. Then thou art happy; but if _Erminia_ fail, I shall not live to reproach her.
_Am_. Nay, Madam, do not think of dying yet: There is a way, if we could think of it.
_Gal. Aminta_, when will thou this Humour lose?
_Am_. Faith, never, if I might my Humour chuse.