MELLEFONT, CYNTHIA.
MEL. You're thoughtful, Cynthia?
CYNT. I'm thinking, though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves 'em still two fools; and they become more conspicuous by setting off one another.
MEL. That's only when two fools meet, and their follies are opposed.
CYNT. Nay, I have known two wits meet, and by the opposition of their wit render themselves as ridiculous as fools. 'Tis an odd game we're going to play at. What think you of drawing stakes, and giving over in time?
MEL. No, hang't, that's not endeavouring to win, because it's possible we may lose; since we have shuffled and cut, let's even turn up trump now.
CYNT. Then I find it's like cards, if either of us have a good hand it is an accident of fortune.
MEL. No, marriage is rather like a game at bowls: fortune indeed makes the match, and the two nearest, and sometimes the two farthest, are together, but the game depends entirely upon judgment.
CYNT. Still it is a game, and consequently one of us must be a loser.
MEL. Not at all; only a friendly trial of skill, and the winnings to be laid out in an entertainment. What's here, the music? Oh, my lord has promised the company a new song; we'll get 'em to give it us by the way. [Musicians crossing the stage.] Pray let us have the favour of you, to practise the song before the company hear it.
SONG.
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.]
