SCENE III.--Sir William Fondlove's.


[Enter CONSTANCE, dressed for riding, and PHOEBE.]

Con. Well, Phoebe, would you know me? Are those locks
That cluster on my forehead and my cheek,
Sufficient mask? Show I what I would seem,
A lady for the chase? My darkened brows
And heightened colour, foreign to my face,
Do they my face pass off for stranger too?
What think you?

Phoebe. That he'll ne'er discover you.

Con. Then send him to me. Say a lady wants
To speak with him, unless indeed it be
A man in lady's gear; I look so bold
And speak so gruff. Away! [PHOEBE goes out.] That I am glad
He stays in town, I own, but if I am,
'Tis only for the tricks I'll play upon him,
And now begin, persuading him his fame
Hath made me fancy him, and brought me hither
On visit to his worship. Soft, his foot!
THIS he? Why, what has metamorphosed him.
And changed my sportsman to fine gentleman?
Well he becomes his clothes! But, check my wonder,
Lest I forget myself. Why, what an air
The fellow hath. A man to set a cap at!