SCENE II.

  PALAMEDE and DORALICE meet:  She, with a book in her hand, seems
  to start at the sight of him.

Dor. ’Tis a strange thing that no warning will serve your turn; and that no retirement will secure me from your impertinent addresses!  Did not I tell you, that I was to be private here at my devotions?

Pala. Yes; and you see I have observed my cue exactly:  I am come to relieve you from them.  Come, shut up, shut up your book; the man’s come who is to supply all your necessities.

Dor. Then, it seems, you are so impudent to think it was an assignation?  This, I warrant, was your lewd interpretation of my innocent meaning.

Pala. Venus forbid, that I should harbour so unreasonable a thought of a fair young lady, that you should lead me hither into temptation.  I confess, I might think indeed it was a kind of honourable challenge, to meet privately without seconds, and decide the difference betwixt the two sexes; but heaven forgive me, if I thought amiss.

Dor. You thought too, I’ll lay my life on’t, that you might as well make love to me, as my husband does to your mistress.

Pala. I was so unreasonable to think so too.

Dor. And then you wickedly inferred, that there was some justice in the revenge of it; or, at least, but little injury for a man to endeavour to enjoy that, which he accounts a blessing, and which is not valued as it ought by the dull possessor.  Confess your wickedness,—­did you not think so?

Pala. I confess I was thinking so, as fast as I could; but you think so much before me, that you will let me think nothing.

Dor. ’Tis the very thing that I designed; I have forestalled all your arguments, and left you without a word more, to plead for mercy.  If you have any thing farther to offer, ere sentence pass—­Poor animal, I brought you hither only for my diversion.

Pala. That you may have, if you’ll make use of me the right way; but I tell thee, woman, I am now past talking.

Dor. But it may be, I came hither to hear what fine things you could say for yourself.

Pala. You would be very angry, to my knowledge, if I should lose so much time to say many of them.—­By this hand you would!

Dor. Fye, Palamede, I am a woman of honour.

Pala. I see you are; you have kept touch with your assignation:  And before we part, you shall find that I am a man of honour.  Yet I have one scruple of conscience—­

Dor. I warrant you will not want some naughty argument, or other, to satisfy yourself.—­I hope you are afraid of betraying your friend?

Pala. Of betraying my friend!  I am more afraid of being betrayed by you to my friend.  You women now are got into the way of telling first yourselves:  A man, who has any care of his reputation, will be loth to trust it with you.