MILLA. Sententious Mirabell! Prithee don't look with that violent
and inflexible wise face, like Solomon at the dividing of the child
in an old tapestry hanging!

MIRA. You are merry, madam, but I would persuade you for a moment
to be serious.

MILLA. What, with that face? No, if you keep your countenance,
'tis impossible I should hold mine. Well, after all, there is
something very moving in a lovesick face. Ha, ha, ha! Well I won't
laugh; don't be peevish. Heigho! Now I'll be melancholy, as
melancholy as a watch-light. Well, Mirabell, if ever you will win
me, woo me now.--Nay, if you are so tedious, fare you well: I see
they are walking away.

MIRA. Can you not find in the variety of your disposition one
moment -

MILLA. To hear you tell me Foible's married, and your plot like to
speed? No.

MIRA. But how you came to know it -

MILLA. Without the help of the devil, you can't imagine; unless she
should tell me herself. Which of the two it may have been, I will
leave you to consider; and when you have done thinking of that,
think of me.


SCENE VII.