Chapter VI: Epilogue (3)

_Thom._ This thrives well,
Every one takes me for my Sister, excellent;
This Nunnery's faln so pat too, to my figure,
Where there be handsome wenches, and they shall know it,
If once I creep in, ere they get me out again;
Stay, here's the house, and one of her Maids.

_Enter Maid._

_Maid._ Who's there?
O Mistress Dorothy! you are a stranger.

_Thom._ Still Mistress _Dorothy_? this geer will cotton.

_Maid._ Will you walk in, Forsooth?

_Thom._ Where is your Mistress?

_Maid._ Not very well; she's gone to bed, I am glad
You are come so fit to comfort her.

_Thom._ Yes, I'll comfort her.

_Maid._ 'Pray make not much noise, for she is sure asleep,
You know your side, creep softly in, your company
Will warm her well.

_Thom._ I warrant thee I'll warm her.

_Maid._ Your Brother has been here, the strangest fellow.

_Thom._ A very Rogue, a rank Rogue.

_Maid._ I'll conduct ye
Even to her Chamber-door, and there commit ye. [_Exeunt._

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._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ Hylas, _and_ Thomas.

_Hyl._ I heard the doors clap; now, and't be thy will, wench.
By th' Mass she comes; you are surely met fair Gentlewoman,
I take it, Mistress _Doll Sebastians_ Daughter.

_Thom._ I take right, Sir; _Hylas_, are you ferretting?
I'll fit you with a penny-worth presently.

_Hyl._ How dare you walk so late, sweet, so weak guarded?

_Thom._ 'Faith Sir, I do no harm, nor none I look for,
Yet I am glad I have met so good a Gentleman,
Against all chances; for though I never knew ye,
Yet I have heard much good spoke of ye.

_Hyl._ Hark ye,
What if a man should kiss ye?

_Thom._ That's no harm, Sir;
'Pray God he 'scapes my Beard, there lies the mischief.

_Hyl._ Her lips are monstrous rugged, but that surely
Is but the sharpness of the weather; hark ye [once] more,
And in your ear, sweet Mistress, for ye are so,
And ever shall be from this hour: I have vow'd it.

_Enter_ Sebastian, _and_ Launcelot.

_Seb._ Why, that's my daughter, Rogue, dost thou not see her
Kissing that fellow there, there in that corner?

_Laun._ Kissing?

_Seb._ Now, now, now they agree o'th' match too.

_Thom._ Nay then you love me not.

_Hyl._ By this white hand, _Doll_.

_Thom._ I must confess I have long desir'd your sight, Sir.

_Laun._ Why, there's the Boots still, Sir.

_Seb._ Hang Boots, Sir,
Why, they'll wear Breeches too.

_Thom._ Dishonest me?
Not for the World.

_Seb._ Why, now they kiss again, there
I knew 'twas she, and that her crafty stealing
Out the back way must needs have such a meaning.

_Laun._ I am at my small wits ends.

_Thom._ If ye mean honourably.

_Laun._ Did she ne'r beat ye before, Sir?

_Seb._ Why dost thou follow me?
Thou Rascal, Slave, hast thou not twice abus'd me?
Hast thou not spoil'd the Boy? by thine own Covenant,
Wouldst thou not now be hang'd?

_Laun._ I think I would, Sir,
But you are so impatient; does not this shew, Sir,
(I do beseech ye speak, and speak with judgment,
And let the case be equally consider'd)
Far braver in your Daughter? in a Son now,
'Tis nothing, of no mark; every man does it,
But to beget a Daughter, a man maiden,
That reaches at these high exploits, is admirable;
Nay, she goes far beyond him; for when durst he,
But when he was drunk, do any thing to speak of?
This is _Sebastian_ truly.

_Seb._ Thou sayest right, _Launce_,
And there's my hand once more.

_Thom._ Not without Marriage.

_Seb._ Didst thou hear that?

_Laun._ I think she spoke of Marriage.

_Seb._ And he shall marry her, for it seems she likes him,
And their first Boy shall be my heir.

_Laun._ I, marry,
Now ye go right to work.

_Thom._ Fye, fie, Sir,
Now I have promis'd ye this night to marry,
Would ye be so intemperate? are ye a Gentleman?

_Hyl._ I have no maw to marriage, yet this Rascal
Tempts me extreamly: will ye marry presently?

_Thom._ Get you afore, and stay me at the Chapel,
Close by the Nunnery, there you shall find a night Priest,
Little Sir _Hugh_, and he can say the Matrimony
Over without Book, for we must have no company,
Nor light, for fear my Father know, which must not yet be;
And then to morrow night.

_Hyl._ Nothing to night, Sweet?

_Thom._ No, not a bit, I am sent of business,
About my dowry, Sweet, do not spoil all now,
'Tis of much haste: I can scarce stay the marriage,
Now if you love me, get you gone.

_Hyl._ You'll follow?

_Thom._ Within this hour, my sweet Chick.

_Hyl._ Kiss.

_Thom._ A Rope kiss ye,
Come, come, I stand o' thorns.

_Hyl._ Methinks her mouth still
Is monstrous rough, but they have ways to mend it,
Farewel.

_Thom._ Farewel, I'll fit ye with a wife, Sir.

_Seb._ Come, follow close, I'll see the end she aims at,
And if he be a handsome fellow, _Launcelot_,
_Fiat_, 'tis done, and all my 'state is setled. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter Abbess_, Cellide, _and Nuns_.

_Ab._ Come to your Mattins Maids; these early hours
My gentle Daughter, will disturb a while
Your fair eyes, nurtur'd in ease.

_Cel._ No, vertuous Mother,
'Tis for my holy health, to purchase which,
They shall forget the Child of ease, soft slumbers.
O my afflicted heart, how thou art tortur'd!
And Love, how like a Tyrant thou reign'st in me,
Commanding and forbidding at one instant;
Why came I hither, that desire to have
Only all liberty to make me happy?
Why did'st thou bring that young man home, O _Valentine_,
That vertuous Youth? why didst thou speak his goodness
In such a phrase, as if all tongues, all praises
Were made for him? O fond and ignorant!
Why didst thou foster my affection
Till it grew up to know no other Father,
And then betray it?

_Ab._ Can ye sing?

_Cel._ Yes, Mother,
My sorrows only.

_Ab._ Be gone, and to the Quire then. [_Exeunt._

[_Musick singing._

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ Michael _and Servant, and_ Francis.

_Mich._ Hast thou enquir'd him out?

_Serv._ He's not at home, Sir,
His Sister thinks he's gone to th' Nunnery.

_Mich._ Most likely; I'll away, an hour hence, Sirrah,
Come you along with this young Gentleman,
Do him all service, and fair office.

_Serv._ Yes Sir. [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_Enter_ Hylas, _and_ Sam.

_Sam._ Where hast thou been, man?

_Hyl._ Is there ne'r a shop open?
I'll give thee a pair of Gloves, _Sam_.

_Sam._ What's the matter?

_Hyl._ What dost thou think?

_Sam._ Thou art not married?

_Hyl._ By th' mass but I am, all to be married,
I am i'th' order now, _Sam_.

_Sam._ To whom prithee?
I thought there was some such trick in't, you stole from me,
But who, for Heavens sake?

_Hyl._ Ev'n the sweetest woman,
The rarest Woman, _Samuel_, and the lustiest,
But wondrous honest, honest as the ice, Boy,
Not a bit before hand, for my life, Sirrah,
And of a lusty kindred.

_Sam._ But who, _Hylas_?

_Hyl._ The young Gentleman and I are like to be friends again,
The fates will have it so.

_Sam._ Who, Monsieur _Thomas_?

_Hyl._ All wrongs forgot.

_Sam._ O now I smell ye, _Hylas_;
Does he know of it?

_Hyl._ No there's the trick I owe him;
'Tis done, Boy, we are fast 'faith, my Youth now
Shall know I am aforehand, for his qualities.

_Sam._ Is there no trick in't?

_Hyl._ None, but up and ride, Boy:
I have made no Joynture neither, there I have paid him.

_Sam._ She's a brave wench.

_Hyl._ She shall be as I'll use her,
And if she anger me, all his abuses
I'll clap upon her Cassock.

_Sam._ Take heed, _Hylas_.

_Hyl._ 'Tis past that, _Sam_, come, I must meet her presently,
And now shalt see me a most glorious Husband.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE VI.

_Enter_ Dorothy, Mary, Valentine.

_Dor._ In troth, Sir, you never spoke to me.

_Val._ Can ye forget me?
Did not you promise all your help and cunning
In my behalf, but for one hour to see her,
Did you not swear it? by this hand, no strictness
Nor rule this house holds, shall by me be broken.

_Dor._ I saw ye not these two days.

_Val._ Do not wrong me,
I met ye, by my life, just as you entred
This gentle Ladies Lodge, last night, thus suited
About eleven a clock.

_Dor._ 'Tis true, I was there,
But that I saw or spoke to you.

_Mar._ I have found it,
Your Brother _Thomas_, _Doll_.

_Dor._ Pray Sir, be satisfi'd,
And wherein I can do you good, command me.
What a mad fool is this! stay here a while, Sir,
Whilst we walk in, and make your peace. [_Exit._

_Enter Abbess._

_Val._ I thank ye. [_Squeak within._

_Ab._ Why, what's the matter there among these maids?
Now _benedicite_, have ye got the breeze there?
Give me my holy sprinkle.

_Enter 2 Nuns._

_1 Nun._ O Madam, there's a strange thing like a Gentlewoman,
Like Mistress _Dorothy_, I think the fiend
Crept into th' Nunnery we know not which way,
Plays revel rout among us.

_Ab._ Give me my holy water-pot.

_1 Nun._ Here, Madam.

_Ab._ Spirit of earth or air, I do conjure thee, [_Squeak within._
Of water or of fire.

_1 Nun._ Hark Madam, hark.

_Ab._ Be thou Ghost that cannot rest,
Or a shadow of the blest,
Be thou black, or white, or green,
Be thou heard, or to be seen.

_Enter_ Thomas _and_ Cellide.

_2 Nun._ It comes, it comes.

_Cell._ What are ye? speak, speak gently,
And next, what would ye with me?

_Tho._ Any thing you'l let me.

_Cell._ You are no Woman certain.

_Tho._ Nor you no Nun, nor shall not be.

_Cell._ What make ye here?

_Tho._ I am a holy Fryer.

_Ab._ Is this the Spirit?

_Tho._ Nothing but spirit Aunt.

_Ab._ Now out upon thee.

_Tho._ Peace, or I'le conjure too, Aunt.

_Ab._ Why come you thus?

_Tho._ That's all one, here's my purpose:
Out with this Nun, she is too handsome for ye,
I'le tell thee, Aunt, and I speak it with tears to thee,
If thou keepst her here, as yet I hope thou art wiser,
Mark but the mischief follows.

_Ab._ She is a Votress.

_Tho._ Let her be what she will, she will undo thee,
Let her but one hour out, as I direct ye,
Or have among your Nuns again.

_Ab._ You have no project
But fair and honest?

_Tho._ As thine eyes, sweet _Abbess_.

_Ab._ I will be rul'd then.

_Tho._ Thus then and perswade her,
But do not juggle with me, if ye do Aunt.

_Ab._ I must be there my self.

_Tho._ Away and fit her.

_Ab._ Come Daughter, you must now be rul'd, or never.

_Cell._ I must obey your will.

_Ab._ That's my good Daughter. [_Exeunt._

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._

SCENE VIII.

_Enter_ Michael, Valentine, _and_ Alice.

_Mich._ I have brought him back again.

_Val._ You have done a friendship,
Worthy the love you bear me.

_Mich._ Would he had so too.

_Val._ O he's a worthy young man.

_Mich._ When all's try'd,
I fear you'll change your faith: bring in the Gentleman.

_Enter_ Francis, _Servant_, _Abbess_, _and_ Cellide, _severally_.

_Val._ My happy Mistress too! now Fortune help me,
And all you Stars that govern chast desires
Shine fair, and lovely.

_Ab._ But one hour, dear Daughter,
To hear your Guardian, what he can deliver
In Loves defence, and his: and then your pleasure.

_Cell._ Though much unwilling, you have made me yield,
More for his sake I see: how full of sorrow
Sweet catching sorrow, he appears! O love,
That thou but knew'st to heal, as well as hurt us.

_Mich._ Be rul'd by me: I see her eye fast on him:
And what ye heard, believe, for 'tis so certain
He neither dar'd, nor must oppose my evidence;
And be you wise, young Lady, and believe too,
This man you love, Sir?

_Val._ As I love my soul, Sir.

_Mich._ This man you put into a free possession
Of what his wants could ask: or your self render?

_Val._ And shall do still.

_Mich._ Nothing was barr'd his liberty
But this fair Maid; that friendship first was broken,
And you, and she abus'd; next, (to my sorrow
So fair a form should hide so dark intentions)
He hath himself confess'd (my purpose being
Only to stop his journey, by that policy
Of laying Felony to his charge, to fright the Sailers)
Divers abuses done, Thefts often practis'd,
Monyes, and Jewels too, and those no trifles.

_Cell._ O where have I bestrew'd my faith! in neither!
Let's in for ever now, there is vertue.

_Mich._ Nay do not wonder at it, he shall say it:
Are ye not guilty thus?

_Fran._ Yes: O my Fortune!

_Mich._ To give a proof I speak not enviously,
Look here; do you know these Jewels?

_Cell._ In, good Mother.

_Enter_ Thomas, Dorothy, _and_ Mary: _then_ Sebastian,
_and_ Launcelot.

_Val._ These Jewels I have known.

_Dor._ You have made brave sport.

_Tho._ I'le make more, if I live Wench,
Nay do not look on me; I care not for ye.

_Lan._ Do you see now plain? that's Mistris _Dorothy_,
And that's his Mistris.

_Seb._ Peace, let my joy work easily,
Ha, boy! art there my boy? mine own boy, _Tom_, boy,
Home _Lance_, and strike a fresh piece of Wine, the Town's ours.

_Val._ Sure, I have know[n] these Jewels.

_Alice._ They are they, certain.

_Val._ Good Heaven, that they were.

_Alice._ I'le pawn my life on't,
And this is he; come hither Mistris _Dorothy_,
And Mistris _Mary_: who does that face look like;
And view my Brother well?

_Dor._ In truth like him.

_Ma._ Upon my troth exceeding like.

_Mich._ Beshrew me,
But much, and main resemblance, both of face
And lineaments of body: now Heaven grant it.

_Ali._ My Brother's full of passion, I'le speak to him.
Now, as you are a Gentleman, resolve me,
Where did you get these Jewels?

_Fran._ Now I'le tell ye,
Because blind fortune yet may make me happy,
Of whom I had 'em I have never heard yet,
But from my infancy, upon this arm
I ever wore 'em.

_Ali._ 'Tis _Francisco_, Brother,
By Heaven I ty'd 'em on: a little more, Sir,
A little, little more, what parents have ye?

_Fra._ None,
That I know yet: the more my stubborn fortune,
But as I heard a Merchant say that bred me,
Who, to my more affliction, dyed a poor man,
When I reach'd eighteen years.

_Ali._ What said that Merchant?

_Fra._ He said, an infant, in the _Genoway_ Galleys,
But from what place he never could direct me,
I was taken in a Sea-fight, and from a Mariner,
Out of his manly pity he redeem'd me.
He told me of a Nurse that waited on me,
But she, poor soul, he said was killed.
A Letter too I had enclos'd within me,
To one _Castruccio_ a Venetian Merchant,
To bring me up: the man, when years allow'd me,
And want of friends compell'd, I sought, but found him
Long dead before, and all my hopes gone with him.
The Wars was my retreat then, and my travel
In which I found this Gentlemans free bounty,
For which Heaven recompenc'd him: now ye have all.

_Val._ And all the worldly bliss that Heaven can send me,
And all my prayers and thanks.

_Alice._ Down o' your knees, Sir,
For now you have found a Father, and that Father
That will not venture ye again in Galleys.

_Mich._ 'Tis true, believe her, Sir, and we all joy with ye.

_Val._ My best friend still: my dearest: now Heaven bless thee,
And make me worthy of this benefit.
Now my best Mistress.

_Cel._ Now Sir, I come to ye.

_Ab._ No, no, let's in Wench.

_Cell._ Not for the world, now, Mother,
And thus, Sir, all my service I pay to you,
And all my love to him.

_Val._ And may it prosper,
Take her _Francisco_: now no more young _Callidon_,
And love her dearly, for thy Father does so.

_Fran._ May all hate seek me else, and thus I seal it.

_Val._ Nothing but mirth now, friends.

_Enter_ Hylas _and_ Sam.

_Hyl._ Nay, I will find him.

_Sam._ What do all these here?

_Tho._ You are a trusty Husband,
And a hot lover too.

_Hyl._ Nay then, good morrow,
Now I perceive the Knavery.

_Sam._ I still told ye.

_Tho._ Stay, or I'le make ye stay: come hither, Sister.

_Val._ Why how now Mistris _Thomas_?

_Tho._ Peace a little,
Thou would'st fain have a Wife?

_Hyl._ Not I, by no means.

_Tho._ Thou shalt have a wife, and a fruitful wife, for I find,
_Hylas_,
That I shall never be able to bring thee Children.

_Seb._ A notable brave boy.

_Hyl._ I am very well, Sir.

_Tho._ Thou shalt be better, _Hylas_, thou hast 7 hundred pound a year,
And thou shalt make her 3 hundred joynture.

_Hyl._ No.

_Tho._ Thou shalt boy, and shalt bestow
Two hundred pound in Cloaths, look on her,
A delicate lusty wench, she has fifteen hundred,
And feasible: strike hands, or I'le strike first.

_Dor._ You'l let me like?

_Mar._ He's a good handsome fellow,
Play not the fool.

_Tho._ Strike, Brother _Hylas_, quickly.

_Hyl._ If you can love me, well.

_Dor._ If you can please me.

_Tho._ Try that out soon, I say, my Brother _Hylas_.

_Sam._ Take her, and use her well, she's a brave Gentlewoman.

_Hyl._ You must allow me another Mistriss.

_Dor._ Then you must allow me another Servant.

_Hyl._ Well, let's together then, a lusty kindred.

_Seb._ I'le give thee five hundred pound more for that word.

_Ma._ Now Sir, for you and I to make the feast full.

_Tho._ No, not a bit, you are a vertuous Lady,
And love to live in contemplation.

_Ma._ Come fool, I am friends now.

_Tho._ The fool shall not ride ye,
There lye my Woman, now my man again,
And now for travel once more.

_Seb._ I'le barr that first.

_Ma._ And I next.

_Tho._ Hold your self contented: for I say I will travel,
And so long I will travel, till I find a Father
That I never knew, and a Wife that I never look'd for,
And a state without expectation,
So rest you merry Gentlemen.

_Ma._ You shall not,
Upon my faith, I love you now extreamly,
And now I'le kiss ye.

_Tho._ This will not do it, Mistress.

_Ma._ Why when we are married, we'l do more.

_Seb._ There's all Boy,
The keyes of all I have, come, let's be merry,
For now I see thou art right.

_Tho._ Shall we to Church straight?

_Val._ Now presently, and there with nuptial
The holy Priest shall make ye happy all.

_Tho._ Away then, fair afore. [_Exeunt._

TO THE
NOBLE HONOURER
OF THE
Dead Author's Works and Memory,
Master _CHARLES COTTON_.

SIR,

_My directing of this piece unto you, renders me obvious to many censures, which I would willingly prevent by declaring mine own and your right thereto. Mine was the fortune to be made the unworthy preserver of it; yours is the worthy opinion you have of the Author and his Poems; neither can it easily be determined, whether your affection to them hath made you (by observing) more able to judge of them, than your ability to judge of them hath made you to affect them, deservedly, not partially. In this presumptuous act of mine, I express my twofold zeal; to him and your noble self, who have built him a more honourable monument in that fair opinion you have of him, than any inscription subject to the wearing of time can be. You will find him in this Poem as active as in others, to many of which, the dull apprehensions of former times gave but slender allowance, from malitious custom more than reason: yet they have since by your candid self and others, been clearly vindicated. You shall oblige by your acceptance of this acknowledgment (which is the best I can render you, mine own weak la[b]ours being too unworthy your judicious perusal) him that is ambitious to be known._

_Your most humble Servant_,

RICHARD BROME.

THE

CHANCES.

A

COMEDY.

Persons Represented in the Play.

_Duke of_ Ferrara.
Petruccio, _Governour of_ Bolognia.
_Don_ John, } _two Spanish Gentlemen, and Comerades_.
_Don_ Frederick, }
Antonio, _an old stout Gentleman, Kinsman to_ Petruccio.
_Three Gentlemen, friends to the Duke._
_Two Gentlemen, friends to_ Petruccio.
Francisco, _a Musician_, Antonio's _Boy_.
Peter Vecchio, _a Teacher of Latine_
_and Musick, a reputed Wizard_.
Peter _and_ } _two Servants to Don_ John _and_ Frederick.
Anthonie, }
_A Surgeon._

_WOMEN._

Constancia, _Sister to_ Petruccio, _and Mistriss to the Duke_.
_Gentlewoman, Servant to_ Constancia.
_Old Gentlewoman, Landlady to Don_ John _and_ Frederick.
Constancia, _a Whore to old_ Antonio.
_Bawd._

_The Scene_ Bolognia.

_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._

_Enter 2. Serving-men_, Peter _and_ Anthony.

_Peter._ I would we were remov'd from this town, _Anthony_,
That we might taste some quiet; for mine own part,
I'm almost melted with continual trotting
After enquiries, dreams, and revelations,
Of who knows whom, or where? serve wenching soldiers,
That knows no other Paradise but Plackets:
I'll serve a Priest in Lent first, and eat Bell-ropes.

_Ant._ Thou art the froward'st fool--

_Pet._ Why, good tame _Anthonie_?
Tell me but this; to what end came we hither?

_Ant._ To wait upon our Masters.

_Pet._ But how, _Anthony_?
Answer me that; resolve me there, good _Anthony_?

_Ant._ To serve their uses.

_Pet._ Shew your uses, _Anthony_.

_Ant._ To be imploy'd in any thing.

_Pet._ No _Anthony_,
Not any thing I take it; nor that thing
We travel to discover, like new islands;
A salt itch serve such uses; in things of moment
Concerning things, I grant ye, not things errant,
Sweet Ladies things, and things to thank the Surgeon;
In no such things, sweet _Anthony_, put case--

_Ant._ Come, come, all will be mended; this invisible woman
Of infinite report for shape and vertue,
That bred us all this trouble to no purpose,
They are determin'd now no more to think on,
But fall close to their studies.

_Pet._ Was there ever
Men known to run mad with report before?
Or wonder after [that] they know not where
To find? or if found, how to enjoy? are mens brains
Made now adays of malt, that their affections
Are never sober? but like drunken People
Founder at every new Fame? I do believe too
That men in love are ever drunk, as drunken men
Are ever loving.

_Ant._ Prithee be thou sober,
And know, that they are none of those, not guilty
Of the least vanity of love, only a doubt
Fame might too far report, or rather flatter
The Graces of this Woman, made them curious
To find the truth, which since they find so blocked
And lockt up from their searches, they are now setled
To give the wonder over.

_Pet._ Would they were setled
To give me some new shoos too: for I'll be sworn
These are e'en worn out to the reasonable souls
In their good worships business; and some sleep
Would not do much amiss, unless they mean
To make a Bell-man on me; and what now
Mean they to study, _Anthony_, moral Philosophy
After their mar-all women?

_Ant._ Mar a fools head.

_Pet._ 'Twill mar two fools heads and they take not heed,
Besides the Giblets to 'em.

_Ant._ Will you walk, Sir,
And talk more out of hearing? your fools head
May chance to find a wooden night-cap else.

_Pet._ I never lay in any.

_Enter Don_ John, _and_ Frederick.

_Ant._ Then leave your lying,
And your blind prophesying: here they come,
You had best tell them as much.

_Pet._ I am no tell-tale. [_Exeunt._

_John._ I would we could have seen her though; for sure
She must be some rare Creature, or Report lies.
All mens Reports too.

_Fred._ I could well wish I had seen her;
But since she is so conceal'd, so beyond venture
Kept and preserv'd from view, so like a Paradise,
Plac'd where no knowledge can come near her; so guarded,
As 'twere impossible, though known, to reach her,
I have made up my belief.

_John._ Hang me from this hour
If I more think upon her, or believe her,
But as she came a strong Report unto me,
So the next Fame shall lose her.

_Fred._ 'Tis the next way;
But whither are you walking?

_John._ My old Round
After my meat, and then to Bed.

_Fred._ 'Tis healthful.

_John._ Will not you stir?

_Fred._ I have a little business.

_Joh._ Upon my life this Lady still--

_Fred._ Then you will lose it.

_John._ 'Pray let's walk together.

_Fred._ Now I cannot.

_John._ I have something to impart.

_Fred._ An hour hence
I will not miss to meet you.

_John._ Where?

_Fred._ I'th' high street;
For not to lie, I have a few Devotions
To do first, then I am yours.

_John._ Remember. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ Petruchio, Antonio, _and two Gentlemen_.

_Ant._ Cut his wind-pipe I say.

_1 Gent._ Fye, _Antonio_.

_Ant._ Or knock his brains out first, and then forgive him,
If you do thrust, be sure it be to th'hilts,
A Surgeon may see through him.

_1 Gent._ You are too violent.

_2 Gent._ Too open undiscreet.

_Pet._ Am I not ruin'd?
The honour of my house crack'd? my bloud poyson'd?
My Credit and my Name?

_2 Gent._ Be sure it be so,
Before ye use this violence: Let not doubt,
And a suspecting anger so much sway ye,
Your wisedom may be question'd.

_Ant._ I say kill him,
And then dispute the cause; cut off what may be,
And what is shall be safe.

_2 Gent._ Hang up a true man,
Because 'tis possible he may be thievish!
Alas, is this good Justice?

_Pet._ I know as certain
As day must come again, as clear as truth,
And open as belief can lay it to me,
That I am basely wrong'd, wrong'd above recompence;
Maliciously abus'd, blasted for ever
In name and honour, lost to all remembrance,
But what is smear'd, and shameful; I must kill him,
Necessity compells me.

_1 Gent._ But think better.

_Pet._ There is no other cure left; yet witness with me,
All that is fair in man, all that is noble,
I am not greedy of this life I seek for,
Nor thirst to shed mans blood, and would 'twere possible,
I wish it with my soul, so much I tremble
To offend the sacred Image of my Maker,
My Sword could only kill his Crimes; no, 'tis Honour,
Honour, my noble friends, that Idol, Honour,
That all the world now worships, not _Petruchio_
Must do this Justice.

_Ant._ Let it once be done,
And 'tis no matter, whether you, or honour,
Or both, be accessary.

_2 Gent._ Do you weigh, _Petruchio_,
The value of the person, power, and greatness,
And what this spark may kindle?

_Pet._ To perform it,
So much I am ty'd to Reputation,
And Credit of my house, let it raise wild-fires,
That all this Dukedom smoak, and storms that toss me
Into the waves of everlasting ruine,
Yet I must through; if ye dare side me.

_Ant._ Dare?

_Pet._ Y'are friends indeed, if not.

_2 Gent._ Here's none flyes from you,
Do it in what design ye please, we'll back ye.

_1 Gent._ But then be sure ye kill him.

_2 Gent._ Is the cause
So mortal, nothing but his life?

_Pet._ Believe me,
A less offence has been the desolation
Of a whole name.

_2 Gent._ No other way to purge it?

_Pet._ There is, but never to be hoped for.

_2 Gent._ Think an hour more,
And if then ye find no safer Road to guide ye,
We'll set up our Rests too.

_Ant._ Mine's up already,
And hang him for my part
Goes less than life.

_2 Gent._ If we see noble cause, 'tis like our Swords
May be as free and forward as your words. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter Don_ John.

_John._ The civil order of this Town, _Bologna_,
Makes it belov'd and honour'd of all Travellers,
As a most safe retirement in all troubles;
Beside the wholsome seat, and noble temper
Of those minds that inhabit it, safely wise,
And to all strangers vertuous; But I see
My admiration has drawn night upon me,
And longer to expect my friend may pull me
Into suspicion of too late a stirrer,
Which all good Governments are jealous of.
I'll home, and think at liberty: yet certain,
'Tis not so far night as I thought; for see,
A fair house yet stands open, yet all about it
Are close, and no lights stirring, there may be foul play;
I'le venture to look in: if there be knaves,
I may do a good office. [_Woman within._

_Within._ Signieur?

_John._ What? how is this?

_Within._ Signieur _Fabritio_?

_John._ I'le go nearer.

_Within._ _Fabritio?_

_Joh._ This is a womans tongue, here may be good done.

_Within._ Who's there?
_Fabritio?_

_John._ I.

_Within._ Where are ye?

_Joh._ Here.

_Within._ O come, for Heavens sake!

_Joh._ I must see what this means.

_Enter Woman with a Child._

_Within._ I have stay'd this long hour for you, make no noise,
For things are in strange trouble: here, be secret,
'Tis worth your care; begon now; more eyes watch us,
Than may be for our safeties.

_Joh._ Hark ye?

_Within._ Peace: good night.

_Joh._ She is gone, and I am loaden; fortune for me;
It weighs well, and it feels well; it may chance
To be some pack of worth: byth' mass 'tis heavie;
If it be Coyn or Jewels, 'tis worth welcom:
I'le ne're refuse a fortune: I am confident
'Tis of no common price: now to my lodging:
If it hit right, I'le bless this night. [_Exit._

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ Frederick.

_Fred._ 'Tis strange,
I cannot meet him; sure he has encountred
Some light o' love or other, and there means
To play at in and in for this night. Well _Don John_,
If you do spring a leak, or get an itch,
Till ye claw off your curl'd pate, thank your night-walks:
You must be still a bootehalling: one round more,
Though it be late, I'le venture to discover ye,
I do not like your out-leaps. [_Exit._

SCENE V.

_Enter_ Duke, _and 3 Gentlemen_.

_Duke._ Welcom to Town, are ye all fit?

_1 Gent._ To point Sir.

_Duke._ Where are the horses?

_2 Gent._ Where they were appointed.

_Duke._ Be private, and whatsoever fortune
Offer it self, let's stand sure.

_3 Gent._ Fear not us,
E're ye shall be endangered, or deluded,
We'll make a black night on't.

_Duke._ No more, I know it;
You know your Quarters?

_1 Gent._ Will you go alone Sir?

_Du._ Ye shall not be far from me, the least noise
Shall bring ye to my rescue.

_2 Gent._ We are counsell'd. [_Exeunt._

SCENE VI.

_Enter Don_ John.

_John._ Was ever man so paid for being curious?
Ever so bob'd for searching out adventures,
As I am? did the Devil lead me? must I needs be peeping
Into mens houses where I had no business,
And make my self a mischief? 'Tis well carried;
I must take other mens occasions on me,
And be I know not whom: most finely handled:
What have I got by this now? what's the purchase?
A piece of evening Arras work, a child,
Indeed an Infidel: this comes of peeping:
A lump got out of laziness; good white bread
Let's have no bawling with ye: 'sdeath, have I
Known wenches thus long, all the ways of wenches
Their snares and subtilties? have I read over
All their School learnings, div'd into their quiddits,
And am I now bum-fidled with a Bastard?
Fetch'd over with a Card of five, and in mine old days,
After the dire massacre of a million
Of Maiden-heads? caught the common way, i'th' night too
Under anothers name, to make the matter
Carry more weight about it? well _Don John_,
You will be wiser one day, when ye have purchas'd
A heavy of these Butter-prints together,
With searching out conceal'd iniquities,
Without commission: why, it would never grieve me,
If I had got this Ginger-bread: never stirr'd me,
So I had had a stroak for't: 't had been Justice
Then to have kept it; but to raise a dayrie
For other mens adulteries, consume my self in candles,
And scowring works, in Nurses Bells and Babies,
Only for charity, for meer I thank you,
A little troubles me: the least touch for it,
Had but my breeches got it, had contented me.
Whose e're it is, sure 't had a wealthy Mother,
For 'tis well cloathed, and if I be not cozen'd,
Well lin'd within: to leave it here were barbarous,
And ten to one would kill it: a more sin
Then his that got it: well, I will dispose on't,
And keep it, as they keep deaths heads in rings,
To cry _memento_ to me; no more peeping.
Now all the danger is to qualifie
The good old gentlewoman, at whose house we live,
For she will fall upon me with a Catechism
Of four hours long: I must endure all;
For I will know this Mother: Come good wonder,
Let you and I be jogging: your starv'd trebble
Will waken the rude watch else: all that be
Curious night-walkers, may they find my fee. [_Exit._

SCENE VII.

_Enter_ Frederick.

_Fred._ Sure he's gone home:
I have beaten all the purlews,
But cannot bolt him: if he be a bobbing,
'Tis not my care can cure him: To morrow morning
I shall have further knowledge from a Surgeon's--
Where he lyes moor'd, to mend his leaks.

_Enter_ Constantia.

_Con._ I'm ready,
And through a world of dangers am flown to ye.
Be full of haste and care, we are undone else:
Where are your people? which way must we travel?
For Heaven sake stay not here Sir.

_Fred._ What may this prove?

_Con._ Alas I am mistaken, lost, undone,
For ever perish'd. Sir, for Heaven sake tell me,
Are ye a Gentleman?

_Fred._ I am.

_Con._ Of this place?

_Fred._ No, born in _Spain_.

_Con._ As ever you lov'd honour,
As ever your desires may gain their ends,
Do a poor wretched woman but this benefit,
For I am forc'd to trust ye.

_Fred._ Y'ave charm'd me,
Humanity and honour bids me help ye;
And if I fail your trust.--

_Con._ The time's too dangerous
To stay your protestations: I believe ye,
Alas, I must believe ye: From this place,
Good noble Sir, remove me instantly,
And for a time, where nothing but your self,
And honest conversation may come near me,
In some secure place se[t]tle me: what I am
And why thus boldly I commit my credit
Into a strangers hand, the fears and dangers,
That force me to this wild course, at more leisure
I shall reveal unto you.

_Fred._ Come, be hearty,
He must strike through my life that takes ye from me. [_Exeunt._

SCENE VIII.

_Enter_ Petruchio, Antonio, _and 2 Gent_.

_Petr._ He will sure come. Are ye well arm'd?

_Ant._ Never fear us.
Here's that will make 'em dance without a Fiddle.

_Petr._ We are to look for no weak foes, my friends,
Nor unadvised ones.

_Ant._ Best gamesters make the best game,
We shall fight close and handsom then.

_1 Gent. Antonio_,
You are a thought too bloudy.

_Ant._ Why? all Physicians
And penny Almanacks allow the opening
Of veins this moneth: why do ye talk of bloudy?
What come we for, to fall to cuffes for apples?
What, would ye make the cause a Cudgel quarrel?
On what terms stands this man? is not his honour
Open'd to his hand, and pickt out like an Oyster?
His credit like a quart pot knockt together,
Able to hold no liquor? clear but this point.

_Petr._ Speak softly, gentle cousin.

_Ant._ I'le speak truly;
What should men do ally'd to these disgraces,
Lick o're his enemie, sit down, and dance him?

_2 Gent._ You are as far o'th' bow hand now.

_Ant._ And crie;
That's my fine boy, thou wilt do so no more child.

_Petr._ Here are no such cold pities.

_Ant._ By Saint _Jaques_
They shall not find me one: here's old tough _Andrew_,
A special friend of mine, and he but hold,
I'le strike 'em such a hornpipe: knocks I come for,
And the best bloud I light on; I profess it,
Not to scare Coster-mongers; If I lose mine own,
Mine audits cast, and farewel five and fifty.

_Pet._ Let's talk no longer, place your selves with silence,
As I directed ye, and when time calls us,
As ye are friends, so shew your selves.

_Ant._ So be it. [_Exeunt._

SCENE IX.

_Enter Don_ John, _and his Land-lady_.

_Land._ Nay Son, if this be your regard.

_John._ Good Mother.

_Lan._ Good me no goods; your cousin, and your self
Are welcom to me, whilst you bear your selves
Like honest and true Gentlemen: Bring hither
To my house, that have ever been reputed
A Gentlewoman of a decent, and fair carriage,
And so behav'd my self--

_John._ I know ye have.

_Lan._ Bring hither, as I say, to make my name
Stink in my neighbours nostrils? your Devises,
Your Brats, got out of Alligant, and broken oaths?
Your Linsey Woolsy work, your hasty puddings?
I, foster up your filch'd iniquities?
Y'are deceiv'd in me, Sir, I am none
Of those receivers.

_John._ Have I not sworn unto you,
'Tis none of mine, and shew'd you how I found it?

_Land._ Ye found an easie fool that let you get it,
She had better have worn pasterns.

_John._ Will ye hear me?

_Lan._ Oaths? what do you care for oaths to gain your ends,
When ye are high and pamper'd? What Saint know ye?
Or what Religion, but your purpos'd lewdness,
Is to be look'd for of ye? nay, I will tell ye,
You will then swear like accus'd Cut-purses,
As far off truth too; and lye beyond all Faulconers:
I'me sick to see this dealing.

_John._ Heaven forbid Mother.

_Lan._ Nay, I am very sick.

_John._ Who waits there?

_Ant._ Sir. [_Within._

_John._ Bring down the bottle of Canary wine.

_Lan._ Exceeding sick, Heav'n help me.

_John._ Haste ye Sirrah,
I must ev'n make her drunk; nay gentle mother.

_Lan._ Now fie upon ye, was it for this purpose
You fetch'd your evening walks for your digestions,
For this pretended holiness? no weather,
Not before day could hold ye from the Matins.
Were these your bo-peep prayers? ye'have pray'd well,
And with a learned zeal: watcht well too; your Saint
It seems was pleas'd as well: still sicker, sicker.

_Enter_ Anthony, _with a bottle of wine_.

_Joh._ There is no talking to her till I have drencht her.
Give me: here mother take a good round draught,
'Twill purge spleen from your spirits: deeper mother.

_Lan._ I, I, son, you imagine this will mend all.

_John._ All i' faith Mother.

_Lan._ I confess the Wine
Will do his part.

_John._ I'le pledge ye.

_Lan._ But son _John_.

_Joh._ I know your meaning mother; touch it once more,
Alas you look not well; take a round draught,
It warms the bloud well, and restores the colour,
And then we'll talk at large.

_Lan._ A civil Gentleman?
A stranger? one the Town holds a good regard of?

_John._ Nay I will silence thee.

_Lan._ One that should weigh his fair name? oh, a stitch!

_Joh._ There's nothing better for a stitch, good Mother,
Make no spare of it, as you love your health,
Mince not the matter.

_Land._ As I said, a Gentleman,
Lodge in my house? now heav'ns my comfort, Signior!

_John._ I look'd for this.

_Lan._ I did not think you would have us'd me thus;
A woman of my credit: one, heaven knows,
That lov'd you but too tenderly.

_John._ Dear Mother,
I ever found your kindness, and [ac]knowledge it.

_Lan._ No, no, I am a fool to counsel ye. Where's the infant?
Come, let's see your Workmanship.

_John._ None of mine, Mother,
But there 'tis, and a lusty one.

_Land._ Heaven bless thee,
Thou hadst a hasty making; but the best is,
'Tis many a good mans fortune: as I live
Your own eyes Signior, and the nether lip
As like ye, as ye had spit it.

_John._ I am glad on't.

_Lan._ Bless me, what things are these?

_John._ I thought my labour
Was not all lost, 'tis gold, and these are jewels,
Both rich, and right I hope.

_Lan._ Well, well son _John_,
I see ye are a wood-man, and can chuse
Your dear, though it be i'th' dark, all your discretion
Is not yet lost; this was well clapt aboard:
Here I am with you now; when as they say
Your pleasure comes with profit; when ye must needs do,
Do where ye may be done to, 'tis a wisedom
Becomes a young man well: be sure of one thing,
Lose not your labour and your time together,
It seasons of a fool, son, time is pretious,
Work wary whilst ye have it: since ye must traffick
Sometimes this slippery way, take sure hold Signior,
Trade with no broken Merchants, make your lading,
As you would make your rest, adventurously,
But with advantage ever.

_John._ All this time Mother,
The child wants looking to, wants meat and Nurses.

_Lan._ Now blessing o' thy care; it shall have all,
And instantly; I'le seek a Nurse my self, son;
'Tis a sweet child: ah my young _Spaniard_,
Take you no further care Sir.

_John._ Yes of these Jewels,
I must by your leave Mother: these are yours,
To make your care the stronger: for the rest
I'le find a Master; the gold for bringing up on't,
I freely render to your charge.

_Lan._ No more words,
Nor no more children, (good son) as you love me,
This may do well.

_John._ I shall observe your Morals.
But where's _Don Frederick_, Mother?

_Lan._ Ten to one
About the like adventure: he told me,
He was to find you out. [_Exit._

_John._ Why should he stay thus?
There may be some ill chance in't: sleep I will not,
Before I have found him: now this woman's pleas'd,
I'le seek my friend out, and my care is eas'd. [_Exit._

SCENE X.

_Enter_ Duke, _and Gentlemen_.

_1 Gent._ Believe Sir, 'tis as possible to do it,
As to remove the City; the main faction
Swarm th[r]ough the streets like hornets, arm'd with angers
Able to ruine States: no safety left us,
Nor means to dye like men, if instantly
You draw not back again.

_Duke._ May he be drawn
And quarter'd too, that turns now; were I surer
Of death than thou art of thy fears, and with death
More than those fears are too.

_1 Gent._ Sir, I fear not.

_Du._ I would not crack my vow, start from my honour,
Because I may find danger; wound my soul,
To keep my body safe.

_1 Gent._ I speak not Sir,
Out of a baseness to you.

_Du._ No, nor do not
Out of a baseness leave me: what is danger,
More than the weakness of our apprehensions?
A poor cold part o'th' bloud? who takes it hold of?
Cowards, and wicked livers: valiant minds
Were made the Masters of it: and as hearty Sea-men
In desperate storms, stem with a little Rudder
The tumbling ruines of the Ocean:
So with their cause and swords do they do dangers.
Say we were sure to dye all in this venture,
As I am confident against it: is there any
Amongst us of so fat a sense, so pamper'd,
Would chuse luxuriously to lye a bed,
And purge away his spirit, send his soul out
In Sugar-sops, and Syrups? Give me dying
As dying ought to be, upon mine enemy,
Parting with man-kind, by a man that's manly:
Let 'em be all the world, and bring along
Cain's envy with 'em, I will on.

_2 Gent._ You may Sir,
But with what safety?

_1 Gent._ Since 'tis come to dying,
You shall perceive Sir, here be those amongst us
Can dye as decently as other men,
And with as little ceremony: on brave Sir.

_Duke._ That's spoken heartily.

_1 Gent._ And he that flinches,
May he dye lowzie in a ditch.

_Duke._ No more dying,
There's no such danger in it:
What's a clock?

_3 Gent._ Somewhat above your hour.

_Duke._ Away then quickly,
Make no noise, and no tr[o]uble will attend us. [_Exeunt._

SCENE XI.

_Enter_ Frederick, _and_ Peter, (_with a candle_.)

_Fred._ Give me the candle: so, go you out that way.

_Peter._ What have we now to do?

_Fred._ And o' your life Sirrah,
Let none come near the door without my knowledge,
No not my Landlady, nor my friend.

_Peter._ 'Tis done Sir.

_Fred._ Nor any serious business that concerns me.