Chapter 35

Enter _Lorenzo_, meets _Guilliam_, who passes by him, and takes no notice of him.

_Lor._ How now, Manners a few?

_Guil._ I cry you heartily, Sir, I did not see you.

_Lor._ Well, Sirrah, the News.

_Guil._ Sir, the Gentlewoman whom you sent me to says That she’ll meet you here.

_Lor._ That’s well, thou mayst come to be a States-man In time, thou art a fellow of so quick dispatch: But hark ye, Sirrah, there are a few Lessons I must learn you, Concerning Offices of this nature; But another time for that: but-- [Whispers.

Enter _Isabella_, and _Antonio’s Valet_.

_Isab._ Here he is; and prithee, when thou seest him in My Chamber, go and tell my Lord, Under pretence of the care you have of the Honour of his House.

_Val._ I warrant you, let me alone for a Tale, And a Lye at the end on’t; which shall not over-much Incense him, nor yet make him neglect coming. [Ex. _Val._

_Lor._ Oh, are you there, Mistress? what have you now To say for your last Night’s Roguery? Are not you a Baggage? confess.

_Isab._ You have a mind to lose your opportunity again, As you did last Night, have ye not? Pray God your own Shadow scare you not, As it did then; and you will possibly believe No body meant you harm then, nor now.

_Lor._ Art thou in earnest?

_Isab._ Are you in earnest?

_Lor._ Yes, that I am, and that _Clarina_ shall find, If I once come to her.

_Isab._ Come, leave your frippery Jests, and come in.

_Lor._ _Guilliam_, be sure you attend me here, And whoever you see, say nothing; the best on’t is, Thou art not much known. [_Isab._ and _Lor._ go in.

_Guil._ Well, I see there is nothing but foutering In this Town; wou’d our _Lucia_ were here too for me, For all the Maids I meet with are so giglish And scornful, that a Man, as I am, Gets nothing but flouts and flings from them. Oh, for the little kind Lass that lives Under the Hill, of whom the Song was made; Which because I have nothing else to do, I will sing over now; hum, hum.

The Song for _Guilliam_. [To some Tune like him.

_In a Cottage by the Mountain Lives a very pretty Maid, Who lay sleeping by a Fountain, Underneath a Myrtle shade; Her Petticoat of wanton Sarcenet, The amorous Wind about did move, And quite unveil’d, And quite unveil’d the Throne of Love, And quite unveil’d the Throne of Love._

’.is something cold, I’ll go take a Niperkin of Wine, [Goes out.

Enter _Isab._ and _Lor._ above, as frighted into the Balcony.

_Lor._ This was some trick of thine, I will be hang’d else.

_Isab._ Oh, I’ll be sworn you wrong me; Alas, I’m undone by’t. [_Ant._ at the Door knocks.

_Ant._ Open the Door, thou naughty Woman.

_Lor._ Oh, oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?

_Ant._ Open the Door, I say.

_Lor._ Oh, ‘tis a damnable leap out at this Balcony.

_Isab._ And yet you are a dead Man, if you see him.

_Ant._ Impudence, will you open the Door?

_Isab._ I will, Sir, immediately.

_Lor._ Devise some way to let me down, Or I will throw thee out; no Ladder of Ropes, no Device? --If a Man would not forswear Whoring for the future That is in my condition, I am no true Gentleman.

_Ant._ Open, or I will break the Door.

_Isab._ Hold the Door, and swear lustily that you Are my Husband, and I will in the mean time Provide for your safety, Though I can think of none but the Sheets from the Bed. [He holds the Door.

_Lor._ Any thing to save my Life; --Sir, you may believe me upon my Honour, I am lawful Husband to _Isabella_, And have no designs upon your House or Honour. [_Isab._ this while fastens the Sheets, which are to be suppos’d from the Bed, to the Balcony.

_Ant._ Thou art some Villain.

_Lor._ No, Sir, I am an honest Man, and married lawfully.

_Ant._ Who art thou?

_Lor._ Hast thou done?

_Isab._ Yes, but you must venture hard.

_Isab._ ‘Tis _Lorenzo_, Sir.

_Lor._ A Pox on her, now am I asham’d to all eternity.

_Isab._ Sir, let me beg you’l take his Word and Oath to night, And to morrow I will satisfy you. [_Lor._ gets down by the Sheets.

_Ant._ Look you make this good, Or you shall both dearly pay for’t.

_Lor._ I am alive, yes, yes, all’s whole and sound, Which is a mercy, I can tell you; This is whoring now: may I turn _Franciscan_, If I could not find in my heart to do penance In Camphire Posset, this Month, for this. --Well, I must to this Merchant of Love, And I would gladly be there before the Prince: For since I have mist here, I shall be amorous enough, And then I’ll provide for _Frederick_; For ‘tis but just, although he be my Master, That I in these Ragousts should be his Taster.

[Exeunt.