What’s this to love, and to the Lady? he’s old,
      Wrathful, perverse, self-will’d, and full of anger,
      Which are his faults; but let them not be thine;
      He thrusts you from his love, she pulls thee on;
      He doubts your Vertues, she doth double them;
      O either use thine own eyes, or take mine,
      And with them my heart, then thou wilt love her,
      Nay, dote upon her more than on thy duty,
      And men will praise thee equally for it,
      Neglecting her, condemn thee as a man
      Unworthy such a fortune:  O Antinous,
      ’Tis not the friendship that I bear to thee,
      But her command, that makes me utter this;
      And when I have prevail’d, let her but say,
      Philander, you must dye or this is nothing,
      It shall be done together with a breath,
      With the same willingness I live to serve her.

Erota: 

      No more, Philander.

Philander: 

      All I have done, is little yet to purpose,
      But ere I leave him I will perceive him blush;
      And make him feel the passions that I do,
      And every true Lover will assist me in’t,
      And lend me their sad sighs to blow it home,
276] For Cupid wants a Dart to wound this bosome.

Erota: 

No more, no more, Philander, I can endure no more,
Pray let him go; go good Antinous, make peace
With your own mind, no matter though I perish.

[Ex.

Actus Quartus

Scena Prima

      [Enter Hyparcha, and Mochingo]

Hyparcha: 

      I Cannot help it.

Mochingo: 

      Nor do I require it,
      The malady needs no Physician,
      Help hospital people.

Hyparcha: 

      I am glad to hear
      You are so valiant.

Mochingo: 

Valiant?  Can any man be proud that is not valiant?  Foolish Woman, what would’st thou say? thou—­ know not what to call thee.

Hyparcha: 

      I can you,
      For I can call you Coxcomb, Ass, and Puppy.

Mochingo: 

      You do doe it, I thank you.

Hyparcha: 

      That you’ll lose a Fortune,
      Which a Cobler better deserves than thou dost.

Mochingo: 

      Do not provoke my magnanimity,
      For when I am incens’d I am insensible,
      Go tell thy Lady, that hath sent me word
      She will discard me, that I discard her,
      And throw a scorn upon her, which I would not,
      But that she does me wrong.

      [Enter Erota, and Antinous.]

Erota: