[Exit.]


SCENE III.

Manchester. The Mill.

[Enter Em sola.]


EM.
Jealousy, that sharps the lovers sight,
And makes him conceive and conster his intent,
Hath so bewitched my lovely Manvils senses
That he misdoubts his Em, that loves his soul;
He doth suspect corrivals in his love,
Which, how untrue it is, be judge, my God!
But now no more--Here commeth Valingford;
Shift him off now, as thou hast done the other.

[Enter Valingford.]

VALINGFORD.
See how Fortune presents me with the hope I lookt for.
Fair Em!

EM.
Who is that?