Love's a lottery and a woman the prize with a new masque call'd Love and riches reconcil'd : as it was acted by His Majesties servants at the theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields.

SCENE the Last.

Enter: Maggot, Clitander, Amaranta, and Isbell: Trick-well meeting them, as running, and out of Breath.

Maggot.

How now Trickwell! How dost do, man? Prithee tell me, how dost like the Roman Sport Of fighting with Wild Beasts?

Trick-well.

Gad, I'le get a Warrant, and bind 'em all over— I'le Crown-Office the Dogs; And if they don't find it worse, than being buffeted by Satan, I'le be their Bond Slave.

Isbell.

Oh, my Dear, I am glad to see thee In the Land of the Living— I was horribly afraid, my Love, That my Ladyship had been spoil'd, and That I must have put on the Garments of Widdow-hood, Before thou had'st made me a Jointure.

Trick-well.

Ay, ay, That was my greatest grief, too, Isbell; For 'twould have vexed any Saint alive, To have been hurried out of his Matrimony, And Five Thousand Pounds to boot— But come, they have had their ends, and all's well— So that now, if you please, Gentlemen, We'll have a Song and a Dance or two, And then every Man to his own Wedlock.

Clitander.

With all my Heart!

Maggot.

Come then, sit down, and let the Musick strike up.

[They sit.