_Olin_. and _Sab_. Celadon! Celadon!
_Flo_. What voices are those?
_Cel_. Some comrades of mine, that call me to play.--Pox on them,
they'll spoil all. [_Aside_.
_Flo_. Pray, let's see them.
_Cel_. Hang them, tatterdemallions! they are not worth your
sight.--Pray, gentlemen, begone; I'll be with you immediately.
_Sab_. No; we'll stay here for you.
_Flo_. Do your gentlemen speak with treble voices? I am resolved
to see what company you keep.
_Cel_. Nay, good my dear.
[_He lays hold of her to pull her back, she lays hold of_ OLINDA,
_by whom_ SABINA _holds; so that, he pulling, they all come
in_.
_Flo_. Are these your comrades? [Sings.] _'Tis Strephon
calls, what would my love?_ Why do you not roar out, like a great
bass-viol, _Come follow to the myrtle-grove_.--Pray, sir, which
of these fair ladies is it, for whom you were to do the courtesy? for
it were unconscionable to leave you to them both:--What, a mans but a
man, you know.
_Olin_. The gentleman may find an owner.
_Sab_. Though not of you.
_Flo_. Pray, agree whose the lost sheep is, and take him.
_Cel_. 'Slife, they'll cry me anon, and tell my marks.
_Flo_. Troth, I pity your highness there; I perceive he has left
you for the little one: Methinks he should have been afraid to break
his neck, when he fell so high as from you to her.
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