SCENE IV.

_Enter_ Valentine, _and_ Michael.

_Mich._ That he is desperate sick I do believe well, And that without a speedy cure it kills him, But that it lyes within the help of Physick Now to restore his health, or art to cure him; Believe it you are cozen'd; clean beside it. I would tell ye the true cause too, but 'twould vex ye, Nay, run ye mad.

_Val._ May all I have restore him! So dearly and so tenderly I love him, I do not know the cause why, yea my life too.

_Mich._ Now I perceive ye so well set, I'll tell you, _Hei mihi quod nullis Amor est medicabilis herbis._

_Val._ 'Twas that I only fear'd: good friend go from me, I find my heart too full for further conference; You are assur'd of this?

_Mich._ 'Twill prove too certain, But bear it nobly, Sir, Youth hath his errours.

_Val._ I shall do, and I thank ye; 'pray ye no words on't.

_Mich._ I do not use to talk, Sir. [_Exit._

_Val._ Ye are welcome; Is there no Constancy in earthly things, No happiness in us, but what must alter? No life without the heavy load of Fortune? What miseries we are, and to our selves, Even then when full content seems to sit by us, What daily sores and sorrows!

_Enter_ Alice.

_Alice._ O dear Brother, The Gentleman if ever you will see him Alive as I think.

_Enter_ Cellide.

_Cel._ O he faints, for Heavens sake, For Heavens sake, Sir.

_Val._ Go comfort him, dear Sister. [_Exit_ Alice. And one word, sweet, with you; then we'll go to him. What think you of this Gentleman?

_Cel._ My pity thinks, Sir, 'Tis great misfortune that he should thus perish.

_Val._ It is indeed, but _Cellide_, he must dye.

_Cel._ That were a cruelty, when care may cure him, Why do you weep so, Sir? he may recover.

_Val._ He may, but with much danger; my sweet _Cellide_, You have a powerful tongue.

_Cel._ To do you service.

_Val._ I will betray his grief; he loves a Gentlewoman, A friend of yours, whose heart another holds, He knows it too; yet such a sway blind fancy, And his not daring to deliver it, Have won upon him, that they must undo him: Never so hopeful and so sweet a Spirit, Misfortune fell so foul on.

_Cel._ Sure she's hard hearted, That can look on, and not relent, and deeply At such a misery; she is not married?

_Val._ Not yet.

_Cel._ Nor near it?

_Val._ When she please.

_Cel._ And pray Sir, Does he deserve her truly, that she loves so?

_Val._ His love may merit much, his Person little, For there the match lyes mangled.

_Cel._ Is he your friend?

_Val._ He should be, for he is near me.

_Cel._ Will not he dye then, When th'other shall recover?

_Val._ Ye have pos'd me.

_Cel._ Methinks he should go near it, if he love her; If she love him.

_Val._ She does, and would do equal.

_Cel._ 'Tis a hard task you put me; yet for your sake I will speak to her, all the art I have; My best endeavours; all his Youth and Person, His mind more full of beauty; all his hopes The memory of such a sad example, Ill spoken of, and never old; the curses Of loving maids, and what may be alledg'd I'll lay before her: what's her Name? I am ready.

_Val._ But will you deal effectually?

_Cel._ Most truly; Nay, were it my self, at your entreaty.

_Val._ And could ye be so pitiful?

_Cel._ So dutiful; Because you urge it, Sir.

_Val._ It may be then It is your self.

_Cel._ It is indeed, I know it, And now know how ye love me.

_Val._ O my dearest, Let but your goodness judge; your own part's pity; Set but your eyes on his afflictions; He is mine, and so becomes your charge: but think What ruine Nature suffers in this young man, What loss humanity, and noble manhood; Take to your better judgment my declining, My Age hung full of impotence, and ills, My Body budding now no more: seer Winter Hath seal'd that sap up, at the best and happiest I can but be your infant, you my Nurse, And how unequal dearest; where his years, His sweetness, and his ever spring of goodness, My fortunes growing in him, and my self too, Which makes him all your old love; misconceive not, I say not this as weary of my bondage, Or ready to infringe my faith; bear witness, Those eyes that I adore still, those lamps that light me To all the joy I have.

_Cel._ You have said enough, Sir, And more than e'r I thought that tongue could utter, But you are a man, a false man too.

_Val._ Dear _Cellide_.

_Cel._ And now, to shew you that I am a woman Rob'd of her rest, and fool'd out of her fondness, The Gentleman shall live, and if he love me, Ye shall be both my triumphs; I will to him, And as you carelessly fling off your fortune, And now grow weary of my easie winning, So will I lose the name of _Valentine_, From henceforth all his flatteries, and believe it, Since ye have so slightly parted with affection, And that affection you have pawn'd your faith for; From this hour no repentance, vows, nor prayers Shall pluck me back again; what I shall do, Yet I will undertake his cure, expect it, Shall minister no comfort, no content To either of ye, but hourly more vexations.

_Val._ Why, let him dye then.

_Cel._ No, so much I have loved To be commanded by you, that even now, Even in my hate, I will obey your wishes.

_Val._ What shall I do?

_Cel._ Dye like a fool unsorrow'd, A bankrupt fool, that flings away his Treasure; I must begin my cure.

_Val._ And I my Crosses. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Frank _sick_, _Physicians_, _and an Apothecary_.

_1 Phy._ Clap on the Cataplasm.

_Frank._ Good Gentlemen, Good learned Gentlemen.

_2 Phy._ And see these broths there, Ready within this hour, pray keep your arms in, The air is raw, and ministers much evil.

_Fran._ 'Pray leave me; I beseech ye leave me, Gentlemen, I have no other sickness but your presence, Convey your Cataplasms to those that need 'em, Your Vomits, and your Clysters.

_3 Phy._ Pray be rul'd, Sir.

_1 Phy._ Bring in the Lettice Cap; you must be shaved, Sir, And then how suddenly we'll make you sleep!

_Frank._ Till dooms-day: what unnecessary nothings Are these about a wounded mind?

_2 Phy._ How do ye?

_Fra._ What questions they propound too! how do you, Sir? I am glad to see you well.

_3 Phy._ A great distemper, it grows hotter still.

_1 Phy._ Open your mouth, I pray, Sir.

_Frank._ And can you tell me How old I am then? there's my hand, pray shew me How many broken shins within this two year. Who would be thus in fetters, good master Doctor, And you dear Doctor, and the third sweet Doctor, And precious master Apothecary, I do pray ye To give me leave to live a little longer, Ye stand before me like my Blacks.

_2 Phy._ 'Tis dangerous, For now his fancy turns too.

_Enter_ Cellide.

_Cell._ By your leave Gentlemen: And pray ye your leave a while too, I have something Of secret to impart unto the Patient.

_1._ With all our hearts.

_3._ I mary such a Physick May chance to find the humour: be not long Lady, For we must minister within this half hour. [_Ex. Phys._

_Cell._ You shall not stay for me.

_Fra._ Would you were all rotten That ye might only intend one anothers itches: Or would the Gentlemen with one consent Would drink small Beer but seven years, and abolish That wild fire of the blood, unsatiate wenching, That your two Indies, springs and falls might fail ye, What torments these intruders into bodies.

_Cell._ How do you worthy Sir?

_Fran._ Bless me, what beams Flew from these Angel eyes! O what a misery What a most studied torment 'tis to me now To be an honest man! dare ye sit by me?

_Cell._ Yes, and do more than that too: comfort ye, I see ye have need.

_Fran._ You are a fair Physician: You bring no bitterness gilt o're, to gull us, No danger in your looks, yet there my death lyes.

_Cell._ I would be sorry, Sir, my charity And my good wishes for your health should merit So stubborn a construction: will it please ye To taste a little of this Cordial

_Enter_ Valentine.

For this I think must cure ye.

_Fra._ Of which Lady? Sure she has found my grief: why do you blush so?

_Cell._ Do you not understand? of this, this Cordial.

_Val._ O my afflicted heart: she is gone for ever.

_Fra._ What heaven have ye brought me Lady?

_Cell._ Do not wonder: For 'tis no impudence, nor want of honour Makes me do this: but love to save your life, Sir, Your life too excellent to lose in wishes, Love, vertuous love.

_Fra._ A vertuous blessing crown ye, O goodly sweet, can there be so much charity So noble a compassion in that heart That's fill'd up with anothers fair affections? Can mercy drop from those eyes? Can miracles be wrought upon a dead man, When all the power ye have, and perfect object Lyes in anothers light, and his deserves it?

_Cell._ Do not despair: nor do not think too boldly, I dare abuse my promise, 'twas your friends And so fast tyed, I thought no time could ruin: But so much has your danger, and that spell The powerful name of friend, prevail'd above him To whom I ever owe obedience, That here I am, by his command to cure ye, Nay more for ever, by his full resignment, And willingly I ratifie it.

_Fra._ Hold for Heaven sake, Must my friends misery make me a triumph? Bear I that noble name, to be a Traitor? O vertuous goodness, keep thy self untainted: You have no power to yield, nor he to render, Nor I to take: I am resolv'd to die first.

_Val._ Ha! saist thou so? nay then thou shalt not perish.

_Fra._ And though I love ye above the light shines on me, Beyond the wealth of Kingdoms, free content, Sooner would snatch at such a blessing offer'd Than at my pardon'd life by the law forfeited, Yet, yet O noble Beauty, yet O Paradise For you are all the wonder reveal'd of it, Yet is a gratitude to be preserv'd, A worthy gratitude to one most worthy The name, and nobleness of friends.

_Cell._ Pray tell me If I had never known that Gentleman, Would not you willingly embrace my offer?

_Fra._ Do you make a doubt?

_Cell._ And can ye be unwilling He being old and impotent? his aim too Levell'd at you, for your good? not constrain'd, But out of cure, and counsel? Alas consider, Play but the Woman with me, and consider As he himself does, and I now dare see it, Truly consider, Sir, what misery.

_Fra._ For vertues sake take heed.

_Cell._ What loss of youth, What everlasting banishment from that Our years do only covet to arrive at, Equal affections [_texts blank_] and shot together: What living name can dead age leave behind him, What art of memory but fruitless doating?

_Fra._ This cannot be.

_Cell._ To you unless ye apply it With more and firmer faith, and so digest it, I speak but of things possible, not done Nor like to be, a Posset cures your sickness, And yet I know ye grieve this; and howsoever The worthiness of friend may make ye stagger, Which is a fair thing in ye, yet my Patient, My gentle Patient, I would fain say more If you would understand.

_Val._ O cruel Woman.

_Cell._ Yet sure your sickness is not so forgetful, Nor you so willing to be lost.

_Fra._ Pray stay there: Me thinks you are not fair now; me thinks more, That modest vertue, men delivered of you, Shews but like shadow to me, thin, and fading.

_Val._ Excellent friend.

_Fra._ Ye have no share in goodness: Ye are belyed; you are not _Cellide_, The modest, immaculate: who are ye? For I will know: what Devil, to do mischief Unto my vertuous friend, hath shifted shapes With that unblemished beauty?

_Cell._ Do not rave, Sir, Nor let the violence of thoughts distract ye, You shall enjoy me: I am yours: I pity, By those fair eyes I do.

_Fra._ O double hearted! O Woman, perfect Woman! what distraction Was meant to mankind when thou was't made a Devil! What an inviting Hell invented! tell me, And if you yet remember what is goodness, Tell me by that, and truth, can one so cherish'd So sainted in the soul of him, whose service Is almost turn'd to superstition, Whose every day endeavours and desires Offer themselves like Incense on your Altar, Whose heart holds no intelligence, but holy And most Religious with his love; whose life (And let it ever be remembred Lady) Is drawn out only for your ends.

_Val._ O miracle!

_Fra._ Whose all, and every part of man: pray make me Like ready Pages wait upon your pleasures; Whose breath is but your bubble. Can ye, dare ye, Must ye cast off this man, though he were willing, Though in a nobleness, so cross my danger His friendship durst confirm it, without baseness, Without the stain of honour? shall not people Say liberally hereafter, there's the Lady That lost her Father, friend, herself, her faith too, To fawn upon a stranger, for ought you know As faithless as yourself, in love as fruitless.

_Val._ Take her with all my heart, thou art so honest That 'tis most necessary I be undone. [With all my soul possess her.] [_Exit_ Val.

_Cell._ Till this minute, I scorn'd, and hated ye, and came to cozen ye: Utter'd those things might draw a wonder on me, To make ye mad.

_Fra._ Good Heaven, what is this Woman?

_Cell._ Nor did your danger, but in charity, Move me a whit: nor you appear unto me More than a common object; yet now truly, Truly, and nobly I do love ye dearly, And from this hour ye are the man I honour, You are the man, the excellence, the honesty, The only friend, and I am glad your sickness Fell so most happily at this time on ye, To make this truth the worlds.

_Fra._ Whither do you drive me?

_Cell._ Back to your honesty, make that good ever, 'Tis like a strong built Castle, seated high, That draws on all ambitions, still repair it, Still fortifie it: there are thousand foes Besides the Tyrant Beauty, will assail it: Look to your Centinels that watch it hourly, Your eyes, let them not wander.

_Fra._ Is this serious? Or does she play still with me?

_Cell._ Keep your ears, The two main Ports that may betray ye, strongly From light belief first, then from flattery, Especially where Woman beats the parley: The body of your strength, your noble heart From ever yielding to dishonest ends, Rig'd round about with vertue, that no breaches, No subtil [mynes] may meet ye.

_Fra._ How like the Sun Labouring in his Eclipse, dark, and prodigious, She shew'd till now? when having won her way, How full of wonder he breaks out again, And sheds his vertuous beams: excellent Angel, For no less can that heavenly mind proclaim thee, Honour of all thy sex, let it be lawful, And like a Pilgrim thus I kneel to beg it, Not with prophane lips now, nor burnt affections, But, reconcil'd to faith, with holy wishes, To kiss that virgin hand.

_Cel._ Take your desire, Sir, And in a nobler way, for I dare trust ye, No other fruit my love must ever yield ye, I fear no more: yet your most constant memory (So much I am wedded to that worthiness) Shall ever be my Friend, Companion, Husband. Farewel, and fairly govern your affections, Stand, and deceive me not: O noble young man, I love thee with my soul, but dare not say it: Once more farewel, and prosper. [_Exit._

_Fra._ Goodness guide thee: My wonder like to fearful shapes in dreams, Has wakened me out of my fit of folly, But not to shake it off: a spell dwells in me, A hidden charm shot from this beauteous Woman, That fate can ne'r avoid, nor Physick find, And by her counsel strengthen'd: only this Is all the help I have, I love fair vertue. Well, something I must do, to be a friend, Yet I am poor, and tardy: something for her too Though I can never reach her excellence, Yet but to give an offer at a greatness.

_Enter_ Valentine, Thomas, Hylas, _and_ Sam.

_Val._ Be not uncivil _Tom_, and take your pleasure.

_Tho._ Do you think I am mad? you'l give me leave To try her fairly?

_Val._ Do your best.

_Tho._ Why there Boy, But where's the sick man?

_Hyl._ Where are the Gentlewomen That should attend him? there's the Patient. Me thinks these Women--

_Tho._ Thou think'st nothing else.

_Val._ Go to him friend, and comfort him: I'le lead ye: O my best joy, my worthiest friend, pray pardon me, I am so over-joy'd I want expression: I may live to be thankful: bid your friends welcome.

[_Exit_ Val.

_Tho._ How do'st thou _Frank_? how do'st thou Boy? bear up man: What, shrink i'th' sinews for a little sickness? _Deavolo morte._

_Fra._ I am o'th' mending hand.

_Tho._ How like a Flute thou speak'st: o'th' mending hand man? Gogs bores, I am well, speak like a man of worship.

_Fran._ Thou art a mad companion: never staid _Tom_.

_Tho._ Let Rogues be staid that have no habitation, A Gentleman may wander: sit thee down _Frank_, And see what I have brought thee: come discover, Open the Scene, and let the work appear. A friend at need you Rogue is worth a million.

_Fra._ What hast thou there, a julip?

_Hyl._ He must not touch it, 'Tis present death.

_Tho._ Ye are an Ass, a twirepipe, A _Jeffery John bo peepe_, thou mimister, Thou mend a left-handed pack-saddle, out puppey, My friend _Frank_, but a very foolish fellow: Do'st thou see that Bottle? view it well.

_Fran._ I do _Tom_.

_Tho._ There be as many lives in't, as a Cat carries, 'Tis everlasting liquor.

_Fran._ What?

_Tho._ Old Sack, Boy, Old reverend Sack, which for ought that I can read yet, Was that Philosophers Stone the wise King _Ptolomeus_ Did all his wonders by.

_Fran._ I see no harm _Tom_, Drink with a moderation.

_Tho._ Drink with suger, Which I have ready here, and here a glass boy, Take me without my tools.

_Sam._ Pray Sir be temperate, You know your own state best.

_Fra._ Sir, I much thank ye, And shall be careful: yet a glass or two So fit I find my body, and that so needful.

_Tho._ Fill it, and leave your fooling: thou say'st true _Frank_.

_Hyl._ Where are these Women I say?

_Tho._ 'Tis most necessary, Hang up your Julips and your _Portugal_ Possets, Your barley Broths, and sorrel Sops, they are mangy, And breed the Scratches only: give me Sack: I wonder where this Wench is though: have at thee.

_Hyl._ So long, and yet no bolting?

_Fra._ Do, I'le pledge thee.

_Tho._ Take it off thrice, and then cry heigh like a Huntsman With a clear heart, and no more fits I warrant thee. The only Cordial, _Frank_. [_Phys. and Serv. within._

_1 Phys._ Are the things ready? And is the Barber come?

_Ser._ An hour ago, Sir.

_1 Phys._ Bring out the Oyls then.

_Fran._ Now or never Gentlemen, Do me a kindness and deliver me.

_Tho._ From whom boy?

_Fra._ From these things, that talk within there, Physicians, _Tom_, Physicians, scowring-sticks, They mean to read upon me.

_Enter three Phys. Apoth. and Barber._

_Hyl._ Let 'em enter.

_Tho._ And be thou confident, we will deliver thee: For look ye Doctor, say the Devil were sick now, His horns saw'd off, and his head bound with a Biggin, Sick of a Calenture, taken by a Surfeit Of stinking souls at his Nephews, and Sᵗ _Dunstans_, What would you minister upon the sudden? Your judgment short and sound.

_1 Phy._ A fools head.

_Tho._ No Sir, It must be a Physicians for three causes, The first because it is a bald-head likely, Which will down easily without Applepap.

_3 Phy._ A main cause.

_Tho._ So it is, and well consider'd. The second, for 'tis fill'd with broken Greek, Sir, Which will so tumble in his stomach, Doctor, And work upon the crudities, conceive me, The fears, and the fiddle-strings within it, That those damn'd souls must disembogue again.

_Hyl._ Or meeting with the stygian humour.

_Tho._ Right, Sir.

_Hyl._ Forc'd with a Cataplasm of Crackers.

_Tho._ Ever.

_Hyl._ Scowre all before him, like a Scavenger.

_Tom._ _Satis fecisti domine_, my last cause, My last is, and not least, most learned Doctors, Because in most Physicians heads (I mean those That are most excellent, and old withal, And angry, though a Patient say his prayers, And _Paracelsians_ that do trade with poisons, We have it by tradition of great writers) There is a kind of Toad-stone bred, whose vertue The Doctor being dri'd.

_1 Phy._ We are abus'd sirs.

_Hyl._ I take it so, or shall be, for say the Belly-ake Caus'd by an inundation of Pease-porridge, Are we therefore to open the port Vein, Or the port Esquiline?

_Sam._ A learned question: Or grant the Diaphragma by a Rupture, The sign being then in the head of _Capricorn_.

_Tho._ Meet with the passion Huperchondriaca, And so cause a Carnosity in the Kidneyes. Must not the brains, being butter'd with this humour-- Answer me that.

_Sam._ Most excellently argued.

_2 Phy._ The next fit you will have, my most fine Scholar, Bedlam shall find a Salve for: fare ye well Sir, We came to do you good, but these young Doctors It seems have bor'd our Noses.

_3 Phy._ Drink hard Gentlemen, And get unwholesome drabs: 'tis ten to one then We shall hear further from ye, your note alter'd. [_Exeunt._

_Tho._ And wilt thou be gone, saies one?

_Hyl._ And wilt thou be gone, saies t'other?

_Tho._ Then take the odd crown To mend thy old Gown.

_Sam._ And we'l be gone all together.

_Fra._ My learned _Tom_.

_Enter Servant._

_Ser._ Sir, the young Gentlewomen Sent me to see what company ye had with ye, They much desire to visit ye.

_Fra._ Pray ye thank 'em, And tell 'em my most sickness is their absence: Ye see my company.

_Tho._ Come hither Crab, What Gentlewomen are these? my Mistris?

_Ser._ Yes Sir.

_Hyl._ And who else?

_Ser._ Mistress _Alice_.

_Hyl._ Oh!

_Tho._ Hark ye sirrah, No word of my being here, unless she know it.

_Ser._ I do not think she does.

_Tho._ Take that, and mum then.

_Ser._ You have ty'd my tongue up. [_Exit._

_Tho._ Sit you down good _Francis_, And not a word of me till ye hear from me, And as you find my humour, follow it: You two come hither, and stand close, unseen Boys, And do as I shall tutor ye.

_Fran._ What, new work?

_Tho._ Prethee no more but help me now.

_Hyl._ I would fain talk With the Gentlewomen.

_Tho._ Talk with the Gentlewomen? Of what forsooth? whose Maiden-head the last Mask Suffer'd impression? or whose Clyster wrought best? Take me as I shall tell thee.

_Hyl._ To what end? What other end came we along?

_Sam._ Be rul'd though.

_Tho._ Your weasel face must needs be ferretting About the Farthing-ale; Do as I bid ye, Or by this light--

_Hyl._ Come then.

_Thom._ Stand close and mark me.

_Fran._ All this forc'd foolery will never do it.

_Enter_ Alice _and_ Mary.

_Ali._ I hope we bring ye health, Sir: how is't with ye?

_Ma._ You look far better trust me, the fresh colour Creeps now again into his cheeks.

_Ali._ Your enemy I see has done his worst. Come, we must have ye Lusty again, and frolick man; leave thinking.

_Ma._ Indeed it does ye harm, Sir.

_Fran._ My best visitants, I shall be govern'd by ye.

_Ali._ You shall be well then, And suddenly, and soundly well.

_Ma._ This Air, Sir, Having now season'd ye, will keep ye ever.

_Tho._ No, no, I have no hope, nor is it fit friends, My life has been so lewd, my loose condition, Which I repent too late, so lamentable, That any thing but curses light upon me, Exorbitant in all my wayes.

_Ali._ Who's that, Sir, Another sick man?

_Ma._ Sure I know that voice well.

_Tho._ In all my courses, careless disobedience.

_Fran._ What a strange fellow's this?

_Tho._ No counsel friends, No look before I leapt.

_Ali._ Do you know the voyce, Sir?

_Fra._ Yes, 'tis a Gentlemans that's much afflicted In's mind: great pity Ladies.

_Ali._ Now heaven help him.

_Fra._ He came to me, to ask free pardon of me, For some things done long since, which his distemper Made to appear like wrong, but 'twas not so.

_Ma._ O that this could be truth.

_Hyl._ Perswade your self.

_Tho._ To what end Gentlemen, when all is perish'd Upon a wrack, is there a hope remaining? The Sea, that ne'r knew sorrow, may be pitiful, My credit's split, and sunk, nor is it possible, Were my life lengthened out as long as--

_Ma._ I like this well.

_Sam._ Your mind is too mistrustful.

_Tho._ I have a vertuous Sister, but I scorn'd her, A Mistris too, a noble Gentlewoman, For goodness all out-going.

_Alice._ Now I know him.

_Tho._ With these eyes friends, my eyes must never see more.

_Alice._ This is for your sake _Mary_: take heed Cousin, A man is not so soon made.

_Tho._ O my fortune! But it is just, I be despis'd and hated.

_Hyl._ Despair not, 'tis not manly: one hours goodness Strikes off an infinite of ills.

_Alice._ Weep truly And with compassion, Cousin.

_Fra._ How exactly This cunning young Thief playes his part!

_Ma._ Well _Tom_, My _Tom_ again, if this be truth.

_Hyl._ She weeps Boy.

_Tho._ O I shall die.

_Ma._ Now Heaven defend.

_Sam._ Thou hast her.

_Tho._ Come lead me to my Friend to take his farewel, And then what fortune shall befal me, welcome, How does it show?

_Hyl._ O rarely well.

_Ma._ Say you so, Sir.

_Fra._ O ye grand Ass.

_Ma._ And are ye there my Juggler? Away we are abus'd, _Alice_.

_Alice._ Fool be with thee. [_Ex._ Mary _and_ Alice.

_Tho._ Where is she?

_Fra._ Gone; she found you out, and finely, In your own noose she halter'd ye: you must be whispering To know how things shew'd: not content to fare well But you must roar out roast-meat; till that suspicion You carried it most neatly, she believed too And wept most tenderly; had you continu'd, Without doubt you had brought her off.

_Tho._ This was thy Roguing, For thou wert ever whispering: fye upon thee Now could I break thy head.

_Hyl._ You spoke to me first.

_Tho._ Do not anger me, For by this hand I'le beat the buzard blind then. She shall not scape me thus: farewel for this time.

_Fra._ Good night, 'tis almost bed time: yet no sleep Must enter these [eyes], till I work a wonder. [_Exit._

_Tho._ Thou shalt along too, for I mean to plague thee For this nights sins, I will never leave walking of thee Till I have worn thee out.

_Hyl._ Your will be done, Sir.

_Tho._ You will not leave me, _Sam_.

_Sam._ Not I.

_Tho._ Away then: I'le be your guide now, if my man be trusty, My spightful Dame, I'le pipe ye such a hun[t]sup Shall make ye dance a tipvaes: keep close to me. [_Exeunt._