SCENE IX.

_Enter_ Michael, Francis, _and Officers_.

_Mich._ Come Sir, for this night I shall entertain ye, And like a Gentleman, how e'r your fortune Hath cast ye on the worst part.

_Fran._ How you please, Sir, I am resolv'd, nor can a joy or misery Much move me now.

_Mich._ I am angry with my self now For putting this forc'd way upon his patience, Yet any other course had been too slender: Yet what to think I know not, for most liberally He hath confess'd strange wrongs, which if they prove so, How e'r the others long love may forget all, Yet 'twas most fit he should come back, and this way. Drink that; and now to my care leave your Prisoner, I'll be his guard for this night.

_Officers._ Good night to your Worship.

_Mich._ Good night, my honest friends; come, Sir, I hope There shall be no such cause of such a sadness As you put on.

_Fran._ 'Faith, Sir, my rest is up, And what I now pull shall no more afflict me Than if I plaid at span-Counter, nor is my face The map of any thing I seem to suffer, Lighter affections seldom dwell in me, Sir.

_Mich._ A constant Gentleman; would I had taken A Feaver when I took this harsh way to disturb him. Come, walk with me, Sir, ere to morrow night I doubt not but to see all this blown over. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Hylas.

_Hyl._ I have dog'd his Sister, sure 'twas she, And I hope she will come back again this night too; _Sam_ I have lost of purpose; now if I can With all the art I have, as she comes back, But win a parley for my broken Pate, Off goes her maiden-head, and there's _vindicta_. They stir about the house, I'll stand at distance. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Mary _and_ Dorothy, _and then_ Thomas _and Maid_.

_Dor._ Is he come in?

_Mary._ Speak softly, He is, and there he goes.

_Thom._ Good night, good night, Wench.

[_A Bed discovered with a Black-moore in it._

_Maid._ As softly as you can. [_Exit._

_Thom._ I'll play the mouse, _Nan_, How close the little thief lies!

_Mary._ How he itches!

_Dor._ What would you give now to be there, and I At home, _Mall_?

_Mary._ Peace for shame.

_Thom._ In what a figure The little fool has pull'd it self together! Anon you will lye straighter; Ha! there's rare circumstance Belongs to such a treatise; do ye tumble? I'll tumble with ye straight, wench: she sleeps soundly, Full little think'st thou of thy joy that's coming, The sweet, sweet joy, full little of the kisses, But those unthought of things come ever happiest. How soft the Rogue feels! O ye little Villain, Ye delicate coy Thief, how I shall thrum ye! Your [']fy away, good servant, as you are a Gentleman.[']

_Mary._ Prithee leave laughing.

_Thom._ Out upon ye, _Thomas_, What do you mean to do? I'll call the house up. O God, I am sure ye will not, shall not serve ye, For up ye go now and ye were my father.

[_Ma._] Your courage will be cool'd anon.

_Thom._ If it do I'll hang for't, Yet I'le be quartered here first.

_Dor._ O fierce Villain.

_Ma._ What would he do indeed, _Doll_?

_Dor._ You had best try him.

_Tho._ I'll kiss thee ere I come to bed, sweet _Mary_.

_Ma._ Prithee leave laughing.

_Dor._ O for gentle _Nicholas_.

_Tho._ And view that stormy face that has so thundred me, A coldness crept over't now? by your leave, candle, And next door by yours too, so, a pretty, pretty, Shall I now look upon ye? by this light it moves me.

_Ma._ Much good may it do you, Sir.

_Thom._ Holy Saints defend me, The Devil, Devil, Devil, O the Devil.

_Ma._ Dor. Ha, ha, ha, ha, the Devil, O the Devil.

_Thom._ I am abus'd most damnedly, most beastly, Yet if it be a she-Devil; but the house is up, And here's no staying longer in this Cassock. Woman, I here disclaim thee; and in vengeance I'll marry with that Devil, but I'll vex thee.

_Ma._ By'r Lady, but you shall not, Sir, I'll watch ye.

_Tho._ Plague o' your Spanish leather hide: I'll waken ye; Devil good night: good night, good Devil.

_Moor._ Oh.

_Thom._ Roar again, Devil, roar again. [_Exit_ Tho.

_Moor._ O, O, Sir.

_Ma._ Open the doors before him; let him vanish: Now, let him come again, I'll use him kinder. How now Wench?

_Moor._ 'Pray lye here your self next, Mistress, And entertain your sweet-heart.

_Ma._ What said he to thee?

_Moor._ I had a soft Bed, and I slept out all But his kind farewel: ye may bake me now, For o' my conscience, he has made me Venison.

_Ma._ Alas poor _Kate_: I'll give thee a new Petticoat.

_Dor._ And I a Wastecoat, wench.

_Ma._ Draw in the Bed, Maids, And see it made again; put fresh sheets on too, For _Doll_ and I; come Wench, let's laugh an hour now. To morrow, early, will we see young _Cellide_, They say she has taken a Sanctuary; Love and they Are thick sown, but come up so full of thistles.

_Dor._ They must needs, _Mall_, for 'tis a pricking age grown, Prithee to bed, for I am monstrous sleepy.

_Mary._ A match, but art not thou thy Brother?

_Dor._ I would I were, Wench, You should hear further.

_Ma._ Come, no more of that, _Doll_. [_Exeunt._