SCENE II.

_The same. A Room in_ CLEON'_s House_.

_Enter_ ASOTUS, _driving in_ GRACCULO.

_Asot._ You slave! you dog! down, cur!

_Grac._ Hold, good young master, For pity's sake!

_Asot._ Now am I in my kingdom:-- Who says I am not valiant? I begin To frown again: quake, villain!

_Grac._ So I do, sir; Your looks are agues to me.

_Asot._ Are they so, sir! 'Slight, if I had them at this bay that flout me, And say I look like a sheep and an ass, I'd make them Feel that I am a lion.

_Grac._ Do not roar, sir, As you are a valiant beast: but do you know Why you use me thus?

_Asot._ I'll beat thee a little more, Then study for a reason. O! I have it: One brake a jest on me, and then I swore, (Because I durst not strike him,) when I came home, That I would break thy head.

_Grac._ Plague on his mirth! I am sure I mourn for 't.

_Asot._ Remember too, I charge you, To teach my horse good manners yet; this morning, As I rode to take the air, the untutor'd jade Threw me, and kick'd me.

_Grac._ I thank him for 't. [_Aside._

_Asot._ What's that?

_Grac._ I say, sir, I will teach him to hold his heels, If you will rule your fingers.

_Asot._ I'll think upon 't.

_Grac._ I am bruised to jelly: better be a dog, Than slave to a fool or coward. [_Aside._

_Asot._ Here's my mother,

_Enter_ CORISCA _and_ ZANTHIA.

She is chastising too: how brave we live, That have our slaves to beat, to keep us in breath When we want exercise!

_Coris._ Careless creature, [_Striking her._ Look to 't; if a curl fall, or wind or sun Take my complexion off, I will not leave One hair upon thine head.

_Grac._ Here's a second show Of the family of pride! [_Aside._

_Coris._ Fie on these wars! I'm starved for want of action. When were you with Your mistress, fair Cleora?

_Asot._ Two days sithence; But she's so coy, forsooth, that ere I can Speak a penn'd speech I have bought and studied for her, Her woman calls her away.

_Coris._ Here's a dull thing!

_Zant._ Madam, my lord.

_Enter_ CLEON.

_Cleon._ Where are you, wife? I fain would go abroad, But cannot find my slaves that bear my litter; I am tired. Your shoulder, son;--nay, sweet, thy hand too: A turn or two in the garden, and then to supper, And so to bed.

_Asot._ Never to rise, I hope, more. [_Aside._ [_Exeunt._