'Tis a reasonable good one; but there hangs one
_Spain_'s Champion ne'er us'd truer: with this Staffe
Old _Alvarez_ has led up men so close,
They could almost spit in the Cannons mouth,
Whilst I with that, and this well mounted, scour'd
A Horse-troop through, and through, like swift desire,
And seen poor rogues retire, all gore, and gash'd
Like bleeding Shads.
_Luc._ Bless us, Sister _Clara_.
How desperately you talk: what d' ye call
This Gun a dag?
_Cla._ I'll give't thee: a _French_ petronel:
You never saw my _Barbary_, the _Infanta_
Bestow'd upon me, as yet _Lucio_?
Walk down, and see it.
_Luc._ What into the Stable?
Not I, the Jades will kick: the poor Groom there
Was almost spoil'd the other day.
_Cla._ Fie on thee,
Thou wilt scarce be a man before thy Mother.
_Luc._ When will you be a woman?
_Enter_ Alvarez _and_ Bobadilla.
_Cla._ Would I were none.
But natures privy Seal assures me one.
_Alv._ Thou anger'st me: can strong habitual custome
Work with such Magick on the mind and manners,
In spight of sex and nature? find out sirrah,
Some skilful fighter.
_Bob._ Yes Sir.
_Alv._ I will rectifie,
And redeem eithers proper inclination,
Or bray 'em in a morter, and new mold 'em. [_Exit._
_Bob._ Believe your eyes, Sir, I tell you, we wash an _Ethiop_.
_Cla._ I strike it for ten Duckets.
_Alv._ How now _Clara_,
Your Breeches on still? and your petticoat
Not yet off _Lucio_? art thou not guelt?
Or did the cold _Muscovite_ beget thee,
That lay here Lieger in the last great frost?
Art not thou _Clara_, turn'd a man indeed
Beneath the girdle? and a woman thou?
I'll have you search'd by ---- I strongly doubt;
We must have these things mended: come goe in. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Vitelli _and_ Bobadilla.
_Bob._ With _Lucio_ say you? there is for you.
_Vit._ And there is for thee.
_Bob._ I thank you: you have now bought a little advice
Of me; if you chance to have conference with that
Lady there, be very civil, or look to your head: she has
Ten nails, and you have but two eies: If any foolish
Hot motions should chance to rise in the Horizon
Under your equinoctial there, qualifie it as well as
You can, for I fear the elevation of your pole will
Not agree with the _Horoscope_ of her constitution:
She is _Bell the Dragon_ I assure you. [_Exit._
_Vit._ Are you the _Lucio_, Sir, that sav'd _Vitelli_?
_Luc._ Not I indeed, Sir, I did never brable;
There walks that _Lucio_ Metamorphosed. [_Exit._
_Vit._ Do ye mock me?
_Cla._ No, he does not: I am that
Supposed _Lucio_ that was, but _Clara_,
That is, and daughter unto _Alvarez_.
_Vit._ Amazement daunts me; would my life were riddles,
So you were still my fair Expositor:
Protected by a Lady from my death.
Oh, I shall wear an everlasting blush
Upon my cheek from this discovery:
Oh, you the fairest Soldier, I e'er saw;
Each of whose eyes, like a bright beamy Shield,
Conquers without blows, the contentious.
_Cla._ Sir, guard your self, you are in your enemies house,
And may be injur'd.
_Vit._ 'Tis impossible:
Foe, nor oppressing odds dares prove _Vitelli_,
If _Clara_ side him, and will call him friend;
I would the difference of our bloods were such
As might with any shift be wip'd away:
Or would to heaven your self were all your name;
That having lost blood by you, I might hope
To raise blood from you. But my black-wing'd fate
Hovers aversely over that fond hope:
And he, whose tongue thus gratifies the daughter,
And Sister of his enemy, wears a sword
To rip the Father and the Brother up.
Thus you that sav'd this wretched life of mine,
Have sav'd it to the ruin of your friends.
That my affections should promiscuously
Dart love and hate at once, both worthily?
Pray let me kiss your hand.
_Cla._ You are treacherous,
And come to do me mischief.
_Vit._ Speak on still:
Your words are falser (fair) than my intents,
And each sweet accent far more treacherous; for
Though you speak ill of me, you speak so well,
I doe desire to hear you.
_Cla._ Pray be gone:
Or kill me if you please.
_Vit._ Oh, neither can I,
For to be gone, were to destroy my life;
And to kill you, were to destroy my soul:
I am in love, yet must not be in love:
I'll get away apace: yet valiant Lady,
Such gratitude to honor I do owe,
And such obedience to your memory,
That if you will bestow something, that I
May wear about me, it shall bind all wrath,
My most inveterate wrath, from all attempts,
Till you and I meet next.
_Cla._ A favour, Sir?
Why, I will give ye good counsel.
_Vit._ That already,
You have bestowed; a Ribbon, or a Glove.
_Cla._ Nay, those are tokens for a waiting-maid
To trim the Butler with.
_Vit._ Your feather.
_Cla._ Fie; the wenches give them to their serving-men.
_Vit._ That little Ring.
_Cla._ 'Twill hold you but by th' finger;
And I would [have] you faster.
_Vit._ Any thing
That I may wear, and but remember you.
_Cla._ This smi[l]e: my good opinion, or my self.
But that it seems you like not.
_Vit._ Yes, so well:
When any smiles, I will remember yours;
Your good opinion shall in weight poize me
Against a thousand ill: Lastly, your self,
My curious eye now figures in my heart,
Where I will wear you, till the Table break.
So, whitest Angels guard you.
_Cla._ Stay Sir, I
Have fitly thought to give, what you as fitly
May not disdain to wear.
_Vit._ What's that?
_Cla._ This Sword.
I never heard a man speak till this hour.
His words are golden chains, and now I fear
The Lyonesse hath met a tamer here:
Fie, how his tongue chimes: what was I saying?
Oh: this favour I bequeath you, which I tie
In a Love-knot, fast, ne'er to hurt my friends;
Yet be it fortunate 'gainst all your foes
(For I have neither friend, nor foe, but yours)
As e'er it was to me: I've kept it long,
And value it, next my Virginity:
But good, return it, for I now remember
I vow'd, who purchas'd it, should have me too.
_Vit._ Would that were possible: but alas it is not;
Yet this assure your self, most honour'd _Clara_,
I'll not infringe a particle of breath
My vow hath offered to ye: nor from this part
Whilst it hath edge, or point, or I a heart. [_Exit._
_Cla._ Oh, leave me living: what new exercise
Is crept into my breast, that blauncheth clean
My former nature? I begin to find
I am a woman, and must learn to fight
A softer sweeter battel, than with swords.
I am sick methinks, but the disease I feel
Pleaseth, and punisheth: I warrant love
Is very like this, that folks talke of so;
I skill not what it is, yet sure even here,
Even in my heart, I sensibly perceive
It glows, and riseth like a glimmering flame,
But know not yet the Essence on't, nor name. [_Exit._
_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Malroda _and_ Alguazier.
_Mal._ He must not? nor he shall not, who shall lett him?
You politique _Diego_, with your face of wisdom;
_Don-blirt_, the ---- on your Aphorismes,
Your grave, and Sage-Ale Physiognomy:
Do not I know thee for the _Alguazier_,
Whose dunghil all the Parish Scavengers
Could never rid? thou Comedy to men,
Whose serious folly is a Butt for all
To shoot their wits at; whilst thou hast not wit,
Nor heart, to answer, or be angry.
_Alg._ Lady.
_Mal._ Peace, peace, you rotten Rogue, supported by
A staffe of rottener office: dare you check
Any accesses that I will allow?
_Piorato_ is my friend, and visits me
In lawful sort to espouse me as his wife;
And who will cross, or shall our enter-views?
You know me sirrah, for no Chambermaid,
That cast her belly, and her wastecoat lately;
Thou think'st thy Constableship is much: not so,
I am ten offices to thee: I, thy house,
Thy house, and office is maintain'd by me.
_Alg._ My house-of-office is maintain'd i' th' garden:
Go too, I know you, and I have contriv'd;
Y'are a delinquent, but I have contriv'd
A poison, though not in the third degree:
I can say, black's your eye, though it be grey;
I have conniv'd at this, your friend, and you:
But what is got by this connivency?
I like his feather well: a proper man,
Of good discourse, fine conversation,
Valiant, and a great carrier of the business,
Sweet breasted, as the Nightingale, or Thrush:
Yet I must tell you; you forget your self,
My Lord _Vitellies_ love, and maintenance
Deserves no other Jack i' th' box, but he:
What though he gather'd first the golden fruit,
And blew your pig's-coat up into a blister,
When you did wait at Court upon his mother;
Has he not well provided for the barn?
Beside, what profit reap I by the other?
If you will have me serve your pleasure, Lady,
Your pleasure must accommodate my service;
As good be virtuous and poor, as not
Thrive by my knavery, all the world would be
Good, prosper'd goodness like to villany.
I am the Kings Vice-gerent by my place;
His right Lieutenant in mine own precinct.
_Mal._ Thou art a right rascal in all mens precincts;
Yet now my pair of twins, of fool, and knave,
Look we are friends; there's Gold for thee, admit
Whom I will have, and keep it from my _Don_;
And I will make thee richer than thou'rt wise:
Thou shalt be my Bawd, and my Officer:
Thy children shall eat still, my good night Owl,
And thy old wife sell Andirons to the Court,
Be countenanced by the _Dons_, and wear a hood,
Nay, keep my Garden-house; I'll call her Mother,
Thee Father, my good poysonous Red-hair'd Dill,
And Gold shall daily be thy Sacrifice,
Wrought from a fertile Island of mine own,
Which I will offer, like an _Indian_ Queen.
_Alg._ And I will be thy devil, thou my flesh,
With which I'll catch the world.
_Mal._ Fill some _Tobacco_,
And bring it in: if _Piorato_ come
Before my _Don_, admit him; if my _Don_
Before my Love, conduct him, my dear Devil. [_Exit._
_Alg._ I will my dear Flesh: first come, first serv'd. Well said.
Oh equal Heaven, how wisely thou disposest
Thy several gifts! one's born a great rich fool,
For the subordinate knave to work upon:
Anothers poor, with wits addition,
Which well or ill-us'd, builds a living up;
And that too from the Sire oft descends:
Only fair virtue, by traduction
Never succeeds, and seldom meets success,
What have I then to do with't? My free will
Left me by heaven, makes me or good, or ill:
Now since vice gets more in this vicious world
Than Piety, and my Stars confluence
Enforce my disposition to affect
Gain, and the name of rich, let who will practise
War, and grow that way great: religious,
And that way good: my chief felicity
Is wealth the nurse of sensuality:
And he that mainly labours to be rich,
Must scratch great scabs, and claw a Strumpets itch. [_Exit._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter_ Piorato, _and_ B[o]badilla, _with Letters_.
_Pio._ To s[a]y, Sir, I will wait upon your Lord,
Were not to understand my self.
_Bob._ To say Sir,
You will do any thing but wait upon him,
Were not to understand my Lord.
_Pio._ I'll meet him
Some half hour hence, and doubt not but to render
His Son a man again: the cure is easie,
I have done divers.
_Bob._ Women do ye mean, Sir?
_Pio._ Cures I do mean, Sir: be there but one spark
Of fire remaining in him unextinct,
With my discourse I'll blow it to a flame;
And with my practice into action:
I have had one so full of childish fear,
And womanish-hearted sent to my advice,
He durst not draw a knife to cut his meat.
_Bob._ And how Sir, did you help him?
_Pio._ Sir, I kept him
Seven daies in a dark room by a Candle-light,
A plenteous Table spread with all good meats,
Before his eyes, a Case of keen broad Knives,
Upon the board, and he so watch'd he might not
Touch the least modicum, unless he cut it:
And thus I brought him first to draw a knife.
_Bob._ Good.
_Pio._ Then for ten daies did I diet him
Only with burnt Pork, Sir, and gammons of Bacon;
A pill of Caveary now and then,
Which breeds choler adust you know.
_Bob._ 'Tis true.
_Pio._ And to purge phlegmatick humor, and cold crudities;
In all that time he drank me _Aqua-fortis_,
And nothing else but--
_Bo[b]. Aqua-vitæ_ Signior,
For _Aqua-fortis_ poisons.
_Pio. Aqua-fortis_
I say again: what's one man's poison, Signior,
Is anothers meat or drink.
_Bob._ Your patience, Sir;
By your good patience, h' had a huge cold stomach.
_Pio._ I fir'd it: and gave him then three sweats
In the Artillery-yard three drilling daies:
And now he'll shoot a Gun, and draw a Sword,
And fight with any man in _Christendom_.
_Bob._ A receipt for a coward: I'll be bold, Sir,
To write your good prescription.
_Pio._ Sir, hereafter
You shall, and underneath it put _probatum_:
Is your chain right?
_Bob._ 'Tis both right and just Sir;
For though I am a Steward, I did get it
With no mans wrong.
_Pio._ You are witty.
_Bob._ So, so.
Could you not cure one Sir, of being too rash
And over-daring? there now's my disease:
Fool-hardy as they say, for that in sooth,
I am.
_Pio._ Most easily.
_Bob._ How?
_Pio._ To make you drunk, Sir,
With small Beer once a day, and beat you twice,
Till you be bruis'd all over: if that help not,
Knock out your brains.
_Bob._ This is strong Physick Signior,
And never will agree with my weak body:
I find the medicine worse than the malady,
And therefore will remain fool-hardy still:
You'll come, Sir?
_Pio._ As I am a Gentleman.
_Bob._ A man o' th' Sword should never break his word.
_Pio._ I'll overtake you: I have only, Sir
A complimental visitation
To offer to a Mistriss lodg'd here by.
_Bob._ A Gentlewoman?
_Pio._ Yes Sir.
_Bob._ Fair, and comely?
_Pio._ Oh Sir, the Paragon, the Non-paril
Of _Sevil_, the most wealthy Mine of _Spain_,
For beauty, and perfection.
_Bob._ Say you so?
Might not a man entreat a c[u]rtesie,
To walk along with you Signior, to peruse
This dainty Mine, though not to dig in't Signior?
Hauh--I hope you'll not denie me, being a stranger;
Though I am a Steward, I am flesh and blood,
And frail as other men.
_Pio._ Sir, blow your nose:
I dare not for the world: no, she is kept
By a great Don, _Vitelli_.
_Bob._ How?
_Pio._ 'Tis true.
_Bob._ See, things will veer about: this Don _Vitelli_
Am I to seek now, to deliver Letters
From my young Mistriss _Clara_: and I tell you,
Under the Rose, because you are a stranger,
And my special friend, I doubt there is
A little foolish love betwixt the parties,
Unknown unto my Lord.
_Pio._ Happy discovery:
My fruit begins to ripen: hark you Sir,
I would not wish you now, to give those Letters:
But home, and ope this to _Madona Clara_,
Which when I come I'll justifie, and relate
More amply, and particularly.
_Bob._ I approve
Your counsel, and will practise it: _bazilos manos_:
Here's two chewres chewr'd: when wisdom is imploy'd
'Tis ever thus: your more acquaintance, Signior:
I say not better, least you think, I thought not
Yours good enough. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Alguazier.
_Pio._ Your servant excellent Steward.
Would all the Dons in _Spain_ had no more brains,
Here comes the _Alguazier: dieu vous guard Monsieur_.
Is my Cuz stirring yet?
_Alg._ Your Cuz (good cosin?)
A whore is like a fool, a kin to all
The gallants in the Town: Your [C]uz, good Signior,
Is gone abroad; Sir, with her other Cosin,
My Lord _Vitelli_: since when there hath been
Some dozen Cosins here to enquire for her.
_Pio._ She's greatly ally'd Sir.
_Alg._ Marry is she, Sir,
Come of a lusty kindred: the truth is,
I must connive no more: no more admittance
Must I consent to; my good Lord has threatned me,
And you must pardon.
_Pio._ Out upon thee man,
Turn honest in thine age? one foot i'th' grave?
Thou shalt not wrong thy self so, for a million:
Look, thou three-headed _Cerberus_ (for wit
I mean) here is one sop, and two, and three,
For every chop a bit.
_Alg._ I marry Sir:
Well, the poor heart loves you but too well.
We have been talking on you 'faith this hour:
Where, what I said, goe too: she loves your valour;
Oh, and your Musick most abominably:
She is within Sir, and alone: what mean you?
_Pio._ That is your Sergeants side, I take it Sir;
Now I endure your Constables much better;
There is less danger in't: for one you know
Is a tame harmless monster in the light,
The Sergeant salvage both by day, and night.
_Alg._ I'll call her to you for that.
_Pio._ No, I will charm her.
_Enter_ Malroda.
_Alg._ She's come.
_Pio._ My Spirit.
_Mal._ Oh my Sweet,
Leap hearts to lips, and in our kisses meet.
SONG.
_Pio. Turn, turn thy beauteous face away._
_How pale and sickly looks the day,_
_In emulation of thy brighter beams!_
_Oh envious light, fli, flie, begone,_
_Come night, and piece two breasts as one;_
_When what love does, we will repeat in dreams._
_Yet (thy eyes open) who can day hence fright,_
_Let but their Lids fall, and it will be night._
_Alg._ Well, I will leave you to your fortitude;
And you to temperance: ah, ye pretty pair,
'Twere sin to sunder you. Lovers being alone
Make one of two, and day and [n]ight all one.
But fall not out, I charge you, keep the peace;
You know my place else. [_Exit._
_Mal._ No, you will not marry:
You are a Courtier, and can sing (my Love)
And want no Mistrisses: but yet I care not,
I'll love you still; and when I am dead for you,
Then you'll believe my truth.
_Pio._ You kill me (fair)
It is my lesson that you speak: have I
In any circumstance deserv'd this doubt?
I am not like your false and perjur'd Don
That here maintains you, and has vow'd his faith,
And yet attempts in way of marriage
A Lady not far off.
_Mal._ How's that?
_Pio._ 'Tis so:
And therefore Mistriss, now the time is come
You may demand his promise; and I swear
To marry you with speed.
_Mal._ And with that Gold
Which Don _Vitelli_ gives, you'll walk some voyage
And leave me to my Trade; and laugh, and brag,
How you o'er-reach'd a whore, and gull'd a Lord.
_Pio._ You anger me extreamly: fare you well.
What should I say to be believ'd? expose me
To any hazard; or like jealous _Juno_
(Th' incensed step-mother of _Hercules_)
Design me labours most impossible,
I'll doe 'em, or die in 'em; so at last
You will believe me.
_Mal._ Come, we are friends: I do,
I am thine, walk in: my Lord has sent me outsides,
But thou shall have 'em, the colours are too sad:
_Pio._ 'Faith Mistriss, I want clothes indeed.
_Mal._ I have
Some Gold too, for my servant.
_Pio._ And I have
A better mettal for my Mistriss. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Tertia._
_Enter_ Vitelli _and_ Alguazier, _at several doors_.
_Alg._ Undone--wit now or never help me: my Master
He will cut my throat, I am a dead Constable;
And he'll not be hang'd neither, there's the grief:
The party, Sir, is here.
_Vit._ What?
_Alg._ He was here;
I cry your Lordship mercy: but I ratled him;
I told him here was no companions
For such debauch'd, and poor condition'd fellows;
I bid him venture not so desperately
The cropping of his ears, slitting his nose,
Or being gelt.
_Vit._ 'Twas well done.
_Alg._ Please your honor,
I told him there were Stews, and then at last
Swore three or four great oaths she was remov'd,
Which I did think I might, in conscience,
Being for your Lordship.
_Vit._ What became of him?
_Alg._ Faith Sir, he went away with a flea in's ear,
Like a poor cur, clapping his trundle tail
Betwixt his legs.--_A chi ha, a chi ha, a chi ha_--now luck.
_Enter_ Malroda _and_ Piorato.
_Mal._ 'Tis he, do as I told thee: Bless thee Signior.
Oh, my dear Lord.
_Vit. Malroda_, what alone?
_Mal._ She never is alone, that is accompanied
With noble thoughts, my Lord; and mine are such,
Being only of your Lordship.
_Vit._ Pretty Lass.
_Mal._ Oh my good Lord, my Picture's done: but 'faith
It is not like; nay, this way Sir, the light
Strikes best upon it here.
_Pio._ Excellent wench. [_Exit._
_Alg._ I am glad the danger's over. [_Exit._
_Vit._ 'Tis wondrous like,
But that Art cannot counterfeit what Nature
Could make but once.
_Mal._ All's clear; another tune
You must hear from me now: _Vitelli_, thou'rt
A most perfidious and a perjur'd man,
As ever did usurp Nobility.
_Vit._ What meanst thou _Mal_?
_Mal._ Leave your betraying smiles,
And change the tunes of your inticing tongues
To penitential prayers; for I am great
In labour, even with anger, big with child
Of womans rage, bigger than when my womb
Was pregnant by thee: go seducer, flie
Out of the world, let me the last wretch be
Dishonored by thee: touch me not, I loath
My very heart, because thou lay'st there long;
A woman's well help'd up, that's confident
In e'er a glittering outside on you all:
Would I had honestly been match'd to some
Poor Countrey-swain, e'er known the vanity
Of Court: peace then had been my portion,
Nor had been cozen'd by an hours pomp
To be a whore unto my dying day.
_Vit._ Oh the uncomfortable waies such women have,
Their different speech and meaning, no assurance
In what they say or do: Dissemblers
Even in their prayers, as if the weeping _Greek_
That flatter'd _Troy_ a-fire, had been their Adam;
Lyers, as if their mother had been made
Only of all the falshood of the man,
Dispos'd into that rib: Do I know this,
And more: nay, all that can concern this Sex,
With the true end of my creation?
Can I with rational discourse sometimes
Advance my spirit into Heaven, before
'T has shook hands with my body, and yet blindly
Suffer my filthy flesh to master it,
With sight of such fair frail beguiling objects?
When I am absent, easily I resolve
Ne'er more to entertain those strong desires
That triumph o'er me, even to actual sin;
Yet when I meet again those sorcerers eies,
Their beams my hardest resolutions thaw,
As if that cakes of Ice and _July_ met,
And her sighs powerful as the violent North,
Like a light feather twirl me round about
And leave me in mine own low state again.
What ayl'st thou? prethee weep not: Oh, those tears
If they were true, and rightly spent, would raise
A flow'ry spring i'th' midst of _January_:
Celestial Ministers with Chrystal cups
Would stoop to save 'em for immortal drink:
But from this passion; why all this?
_Mal._ Do ye ask?
You are marrying: having made me unfit
For any man, you leave me fit for all:
Porters must be my burthens now, to live,
And fitting me your self for Carts, and Beadles,
You leave me to 'em: And who of all the world
But the _virago_, your great Arch-foes daughter?
But on: I care not, this poor rush: 'twill breed
An excellent Comedy: ha, ha: 't makes me laugh:
I cannot choose: the best is, some report
It is a match for fear, not love o' your side.
_Vit._ Why how the devil knows she, that I saw
This Lady? are all whores, piec'd with some witch?
I will be merry, 'faith 'tis true, sweet heart,
I am to marry?
_Mal._ Are you? you base Lord,
By ---- I'll pistol thee.
_Vit._ A roaring whore?
Take heed, there's a Correction-house hard by:
You ha' learn'd this o' your swordman, that I warn'd you of,
Your Fencers, and your drunkards: but whereas
You upbraid me with oaths, why I must tell you
I ne'er promis'd you marriage, nor have vow'd,
But said I lov'd you, long as you remain'd
The woman I expected, or you swore,
And how you have fail'd of that (sweet-heart) you know.
You fain would shew your power, but fare you well,
I'll keep no more faith with an infidel.
_Mal._ Nor I my bosome for a _Turk_: d' ye hear?
Goe, and the devil take me, if ever
I see you more: I was too true.
_Vit._ Come, pish:
That devil take the falsest of us two.
_Mal._ Amen.
_Vit._ You are an ill Clark; and curse your self:
Madness transports you: I confess, I drew you
Unto my Will: but you must know that must not
Make me doat on the habit of my sin.
I will, to settle you to your content,
Be master of my word: and yet he ly'd
That told you I was marrying, but in thought:
But will you slave me to your tyranny
So cruelly I shall not dare to look
Or speak to other women? make me not
Your smock's Monopolie: come, let's be friends:
Look, here's a Jewel for thee: I will come
At night, and--
_Mal._ What 'yfaith: you shall not, Sir.
_Vit._ 'Faith, and troth, and verily, but I will.
_Mal._ Half drunk, to make a noise, and rail?
_Vit._ No, no,
Sober, and dieted for the nonce: I am thine,
I have won the day.
_Mal._ The night (though) shall be mine. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Quarta._
_Enter_ Clara, _and_ Bobadilla _with Letters_.
_Cla._ What said he, sirrah?
_Bob._ Little, or nothing: faith I saw him not,
Nor will not: he doth love a strumpet, Mistriss,
Nay, keeps her spitefully, under the Constables nose,
It shall be justified by the Gentleman
Your brothers Master that is now within
A practising: there are your Letters: come
You shall not cast your self away, while I live,
Nor will I venture my Right worshipful place
In such a business--here's your Mother, down:
And he that loves you: another 'gates fellow, I wish,
If you had any grace.
_Enter_ Eugenia _and_ Sayavedra.
_Cla._ Well rogue.
_Bob._ I'll in, to see Don _Lucio_ manage, he'll make
A pretty piece of flesh, I promise you,
He does already handle his weapon finely. [_Exit._