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Phil. You mistake him, madam, he does but accommodate his phrase to your refined language. Ah quilest un cavalier accompli! Pursue your point, sir [To him.
Pala. Ah quil fait beau dans ces boccages; [Singing. J Ah que le del donne un beau jour! There I was with you, with a minuet.
Met. Let me die now, but this singing is fine, and extremely French in him: [Laughs.] But then, that he should use my own words, as it were in contempt of me, I cannot bear it. [Crying.
Pala. Ces beaux sejowrs, ces doux ramages
Mel. Ces'beauv syours, ces doux ramages. [Singing after him. ] Ces beaux sgows turns invitent a famour! Let me die, but he sings en cavalier, and so humours the cadence! [Laughing.
Pala. Foy, ma Clymene, voy sous ce chene. [Singing again.] S' entrebaiser ces oiseaux amoreux! Let me die now, but that was fine. Ah, now, for thtfee .or four brisk Frenchmen, to be put into masking habits, and to sing it on a theatre, how witty it would be! and then to dance helter skelter to a chanson a boire: Toute la terre, toute la terreest a moil What's matter though it were made and sung two or three years ago in cabarets, how it would attract the admiration, especially of every one that's an emitte!
Mel. Well; I begin to have a tendre for you; but yet, upon condition, that—when we are married, you — jv> [pal. sings, while she speaks.
Phil. You must drown her voice: If she makes her French conditions, you are a slave for ever.
Mel. First, you will engage—that
Pala. Fa, la, la, la, Sfc. [Louder.
Mel. Will you hear the conditions?
Pala. No; I will hear no conditions; 1 am resolved to win you en Francois: To be very airy, with abundance of noise, and no sense: Fa la, la, la, #c.
Mel. Hold, hold: I am vanquished with your gayete d'esprit. I am yours, and will be yours, sans nulle reserve, ni condition: And let me die, if I do not think myself the happiest nymph in Sicily My dear French dear, stay but a minuite, till I raccommode myself with the princess; and then I am yours, jusqii a la mort. Allons done. -
[Exeunt Mel. Pint'.
Pala. [Solus, fanning himselfwith his hat.] I never thought before that wooing was so laborious an exercise; if she were worth a million, I have deserved her; and now, methinks too, with taking all this pains for her, I begin to like her. Tig so; I have known many, who never cared for hare nor partridge, but those they caught themselves would eat heartily: The pains, and the story a man tells of the taking them, makes the meat go down more pleasantly. Besides, last night I had a sweet dream of her, and, gad, she I have once dreamed of, I am stark mad till I enjoy her, let her be never so
Dor. Who's that you are so mad to enjoy, Pala- mede?
Pala. You may easily imagine that, sweet Doralice.
Dor. More easily than you think I can: I met just now with a certain man, who came to you with letters from a certain old gentleman, y'cleped your father; whereby I am given to understand, that to-morrow you are to take an oath in the church to be grave henceforward, to go ill-dressed and slovenly, to get heirs for your estate, and to dandle them for your diversion • and, in short, that love and courtship are to be no more.
Pala. Now have I so much shame to be thus apprehended in the manner, that I can neither speak nor look upon you; I have abundance of grace in me, that I find: But if you have any spark of true friendship in you, retire with me a little into the next room, that hath a couch or bed in it, and bestow your charity upon a dying man! A little comfort from a mistress, before a man is going to give himself in marriage, is as good as a lusty dose of strong-water to a dying malefactor: it takes away the sense of hell and hanging from him.
Dor. No, good Palamede, I must not be so injurious to your bride: Tis ill drawing from the bank to-day, when all your ready money is payable tomorrow.
Pala. A wife is only to have the ripe fruit, that falls of itself; but a wise man will always preserve a shaking for a mistress.
Dor. But a wife for the first quarter is a Distress.
Pala. But when the second comes Dor. When it does come, you are so given to variety, that you would make a wife of me in another quarter.
Pala. No, never, except I were married to you: married people can never oblige one another; for all they do is duty, and consequently there can be no thanks: But love is more frank and generous than he is honest; he's a liberal giver, but a cursed pay-master.
Dor. I declare I will have no gallant; but, if I would, he should never be a married man; a married man is but a mistress's half-servant, as a clergyman is but the king's half-subject: For a man to pome to me that smells of the wife! 'Slife, I would as soon wear her old gown after her, as her husband." /.
Pala. Yet 'tis a kind of fashion to wear a princess's cast shoes; you see the country ladies buy them, to be fine in them.
Dor. Yes, a princess's shoes may be worn after her, because they keep their fashion, by being so very little used; but generally a married man is the creature of the world the most out of fashion: his behaviour is dumpish; his discourse, his wife and family; his habit so much neglected, it looks as if that were married too; his hat is married, his peruke is married, his breeches are married,—and, if we could look within his breeches, we should find him married there too.
Pala. Am I then to be discarded for ever? pray do but mark how that word sounds; for ever! it has a very damn'd sound, Doralice.
Dor. Ay, for ever! it sounds as hellishly to me, as it can do to you, but there's no help for it.
Pala. Yet, if we had but once enjoyed one another !—but then once only, is worse than not at all: It leaves a man with such a lingering after it.
Dor. For aught I know, 'tis better that we have not; we might upon trial have liked each other less, as many a man and woman, that have loved as desperately as we, and yet, when they came to possession, have sighed and cried to themselves, Is this all?
Pala. That is only, if the servant were not found a man of this world; but if, upon trial, we had not liked each other, we had certainly left loving; and faith, that's the greater happiness of the two.
Dor. Tis better as'tis; we have drawn off already as much of our love as would run clear; after possessing, the rest is but jealousies, and disquiets, and quarrelling, and piecing.
Pala. Nay, after one great quarrel, there's never any sound piecing; the love is apt to break in the same place again.
Dor. I declare I would never renew a love; that's like him, who trims an old coach for ten years together; he might buy a new one better cheap.
Pala. Well, madam, I am convinced, that 'tis best for us not to have enjoyed; but, gad, the strongest reason is, because I can't help it.
Dor. The only way to keep us new to one another, is never to enjoy, as they keep grapes, by hanging them upon a line; they must touch nothing, if you would preserve them fresh.
Pala. But then they wither, and grow dry in the very keeping; however, I shall have a warmth for you, and an eagerness, every time I see you; and, if I chance to out-live Melantha
Dor. And if I chance to out-live Rhodophil
Pala. Well, I'll cherish my body as much as I can, upon that hope. Tis true, I would not directly murder the wife of my bosom; but, to kill her civilly, by the way of kindness, I'll put as fair as another man: I'll begin to-morrow night, and be very wrathful with her; that's resolved on.
Dor. Well, Palamede, here's my hand, I'll venture to be your second wife, for all your threatenings.
Pala. In the mean time I'll watch you hourly, as I would the ripeness of a melon; and I hope you'll give me leave now and then to look on you, and to see if you are not ready to be cut yet.
Dor. No, no, that must not be, Palamede, for fear the gardener should come and catch you taking up the glass.
Rho. [Aside.] Billing so sweetly! now I am confirmed in my suspicions; I must put an end to this ere it go farther [To Doealice.] Cry you raer-.