[To him] MELLEFONT.
MEL. O Maskwell, what hopes? I am confounded in a maze of thoughts, each leading into one another, and all ending in perplexity. My uncle will not see nor hear me.
MASK. No matter, sir, don't trouble your head: all's in my power.
MEL. How? For heaven's sake?
MASK. Little do you think that your aunt has kept her word. How the devil she wrought my lord into this dotage, I know not; but he's gone to Sir Paul about my marriage with Cynthia, and has appointed me his heir.
MEL. The devil he has! What's to be done?
MASK. I have it, it must be by stratagem; for it's in vain to make application to him. I think I have that in my head that cannot fail. Where's Cynthia?
MEL. In the garden.
MASK. Let us go and consult her: my life for yours, I cheat my lord.
