SCENE VII.

_Enter_ Dorothy, _and_ Mary.

_Ma._ What a coyle has this fellow kept i'th' Nunnery, Sure he has run the _Abbess_ out of her wits.

_Do._ Out of the Nunnery I think, for we can neither see her, Nor the young _Cellide_.

_Ma._ Pray Heavens he be not teasing.

_Dor._ Nay you may thank your self, 'twas your own structures.

_Enter_ Hylas, _and_ Sam.

_Sam._ Why there's the Gentlewoman.

_Hyl._ Mass 'tis she indeed; How smart the pretty Thief looks! 'morrow Mistress.

_Dor._ Good morrow to you, Sir.

_Sam._ How strange she bears it!

_Hyl._ Maids must do so, at first.

_Dor._ Would ye ought with us, Gentlemen?

_Hyl._ Yes marry would I, A little with your Ladyship.

_Dor._ Your will, Sir.

_Hyl._ _Doll_, I would have ye presently prepare your self And those things you would have with you, For my house is ready.

_Dor._ How, Sir?

_Hyl._ And this night not to fail, you must come to me, My friends will all be there too: for Trunks, and those things, And houshold-stuff, and cloaths you would have carried, To morrow, or the next day, I'le take order: Only what mony you have, bring away with ye, And Jewels.

_Dor._ Jewels, Sir?

_Hyl._ I, for adornment, There's a bed up, to play the game in, _Dorothy_: And now come kiss me heartily.

_Dor._ Who are you?

_Hyl._ This Lady shall be welcome too.

_Ma._ To what, Sir?

_Hyl._ Your neighbour can resolve ye.

_Dor._ The man's foolish, Sir, you look soberly: who is this fellow, And where's his business?

_Sam._ By Heaven, thou art abus'd still.

_Hyl._ It may be so: Come, ye may speak now boldly, There's none but friends, Wench.

_Dor._ Came ye out of Bedlam? Alas, 'tis ill, Sir, that ye suffer him To walk in th' open Air thus: 'twill undo him. A pretty handsome Gentleman: great pity.

_Sam._ Let me not live more if thou be'st not cozen'd.

_Hyl._ Are not you my Wife? did not I marry you last night At Sᵗ _Michaels_ Chapel?

_Dor._ Did not I say he was mad?

_Hyl._ Are not you Mistress _Dorothy_, _Thomas_'s Sister?

_Mar._ There he speaks sence, but I'le assure ye, Gentleman, I think no Wife of yours: at what hour was it?

_Hyl._ 'S pretious; you'l make me mad; did not the Priest, Sir _Hugh_, that you appointed, about twelve a Clock Tye our hands fast? did not you swear you lov'd me? Did not I court ye, coming from this Gentlewomans?

_Ma._ Good Sir, go sleep: for if I credit have, She was in my arms then, abed.

_Sam._ I told ye.

_Hyl._ Be not so confident.

_Dor._ By th' mass, she must, Sir; For I'le no Husband here, before I know him: And so good morrow to ye: Come, let's go seek 'em.

_Sam._ I told ye what ye had done.

_Hyl._ Is the Devil stirring? Well, go with me; for now I will be married. [_Exeunt._