I.

Cynthia frowns whene'er I woo her,
Yet she's vext if I give over;
Much she fears I should undo her,
But much more to lose her lover:
Thus, in doubting, she refuses;
And not winning, thus she loses.

II.

Prithee, Cynthia, look behind you,
Age and wrinkles will o'ertake you;
Then too late desire will find you,
When the power must forsake you:
Think, O think o' th' sad condition,
To be past, yet wish fruition.


MEL. You shall have my thanks below. [To the musicians, they go
out.]


SCENE IV.


[To them] SIR PAUL PLYANT and LADY PLYANT.

SIR PAUL. Gadsbud! I am provoked into a fermentation, as my Lady
Froth says; was ever the like read of in story?