SCENE IV.

_Enter_ Boroskie, Burris, Theodore, Viola _and_ Honora.

_Bor._ They are goodly Gentlewomen.

_Bur._ They are, Wondrous sweet Women both.

_Theo._ Does your Lordship like 'em? They are my Sisters, Sir; good lusty Lasses, They'll do their labour well, I warrant ye, You'll find no Bed-straw here, Sir.

_Hon._ Thank ye Brother.

_The._ This is not so strongly built: but she is good mettle, Of a good stirring strain too: she goes tith, Sir.

_Enter two Gentlemen._

Here they be, Gentlemen, must make ye merry, The toyes you wot of: do you like their complexions? They be no Moors: what think ye of this hand, Gentlemen? Here's a white Altar for your sacrifice: A thousand kisses here. Nay, keep off yet Gentlemen, Let's start first, and have fair play: what would ye give now To turn the Globe up, and find the rich _Moluccas_? To pass the straights? here (do ye itch) by St _Nicholas_, Here's that will make ye scratch and claw, Claw my fine Gentlemen, move ye in divers sorts: Pray ye let me request ye, to forget To say your prayers, whilest these are Courtiers; Or if ye needs will think of Heaven, let it be no higher Than their eyes.

_Bor._ How will ye have 'em bestow'd, Sir?

_Theo._ Even how your Lordship please, So you do not bake 'em.

_Bor._ Bake 'em?

_Theo._ They are too high a meat that way, they run to gelly. But if you'll have 'em for your own diet, take my counsel, Stew 'em between two Feather-beds.

_Bur._ Please you Colonel To let 'em wait upon the Princess?

_Theo._ Yes, Sir, And thank your honour too: but then happily, These noble Gentlemen shall have no access to 'em, And to have 'em buy new Cloaths, study new faces, And keep a stinking stir with themselves for nothing, 'Twill not be well i'faith: they have kept their bodies, And been at charge for Bathes: do you see that shirt there? Weigh but the moral meaning, 'twill be grievous: Alas, I brought 'em to delight these Gentlemen, I weigh their wants by mine: I brought 'em wholesome, Wholesome, and young my Lord, and two such blessings They will not light upon again in ten years.

_Bor._ 'Tis fit they wait upon her.

_Theo._ They are fit for any thing: They'll wait upon a man, they are not bashful, Carry his Cloak, or unty his points, or any thing, Drink drunk, and take Tobacco; the familiar'st fools-- This wench will leap over Stools too, and sound a Trumpet, Wrastle, and pitch the Bar; they are finely brought up.

_Bor._ Ladies, ye are bound to your Brother, And have much cause to thank him: I'le ease ye of this charge, and to the Princess, So please you, I'le attend 'em.

_Theo._ Thank your Lordship: If there be e're a private corner as ye go, Sir, A foolish lobbie out o'th' way, make danger, Try what they are, try--

_Bor._ Ye are a merry Gentleman.

_The._ I would fain be your honours kinsman.

_Bor._ Ye are too curst, Sir.

_The._ Farewel wenches, keep close your ports, y'are washt else.

_Hon._ Brother, bestow your fears where they are needful. [_Exit_ Boros. Honor. Viol.

_The._ _Honor_ thy name is, and I hope thy Nature. Go after, Gentlemen, go, get a snatch if you can, Yond' old _Erra Pater_ will never please 'em. Alas I brought 'em for you, but see the luck on't, I swear I meant as honestly toward ye-- Nay do not cry good Gentlemen: a little counsel Will do no harm: they'll walk abroad i'th' Evenings, Ye may surprize 'em easily, they wear no Pistols. Set down your minds in Metre, flowing Metre, And get some good old linnen Woman to deliver it, That has the trick on't: you cannot fail: Farewel Gentlemen. [_Exeunt Gent._

_Bur._ You have frighted off these flesh-flies.

_The._ Flesh-flies indeed my Lord.

_Enter a Servant._

And it must be very stinking flesh they will not seize on.

_Serv._ Your Lordship bid me bring this Casket.

_Bur._ Yes, Good Colonel Commend me to your worthy Father, and as a pledge He ever holds my love, and service to him, Deliver him this poor, but hearty token, And where I may be his--

_The._ Ye are too noble; A wonder here my Lord, that dare be honest, When all men hold it vitious: I shall deliver it, And with it your most noble love. Your servant. [_Ex._ Bur. Were there but two more such at Court, 'twere Sainted, This will buy Brawn this Christmas yet, and Muscadine. [_Ex._