SCENE III.

Mir. Your patience, Gentlemen: why do ye bait me? Nan. Is't not a shame you are so stubborn hearted, So stony and so dull to such a Lady, Of her Perfections, and her Misery? Lug. Does she not love ye? does not her distraction For your sake only, her most pitied lunacie Of all but you, shew ye? does it not compel ye? Mir. Soft and fair, Gentlemen, pray ye proceed temperately. Lug. If ye have any feeling, any sense in ye, The least touch of a noble heart. La Cas. Let him alone; It is his glory that he can kill Beauty, Ye bear my Stamp, but not my Tenderness; Your wild unsavoury Courses set that in ye! For shame, be sorry, though ye cannot cure her, Shew something of a Man, of a fair Nature. Mir. Ye make me mad. De-Gard. Let me pronounce this to ye, You take a strange felicity in slighting And wronging Women, which my poor Sister feels now, Heavens hand be gentle on her: Mark me, Sir, That very hour she dies, there's small hope otherwise, That minute you and I must grapple for it, Either your life or mine. Mir. Be not so hot, Sir, I am not to be wrought on by these policies, In truth I am not; Nor do I fear the tricks, Or the high sounding threats of a Savoyan; I glory not in Cruelty, ye wrong me; Nor grow up water'd with the tears of Women; This let me tell ye, howsoe'r I shew to ye, Wild, as ye please to call it, or self-will'd; When I see cause I can both do and suffer, Freely, and feelingly, as a true Gentleman.

Ros. O pity, pity, thousand, thousand pities! Lil. Alas poor Soul! she will dye; she is grown sensless; She will not know, nor speak now. Ros. Dye for love! And love of such a Youth! I would dye for a Dog first, He that kills me I'll give him leave to eat me; I'll know men better ere I sigh for any of 'em. Lil. Ye have done a worthy act, Sir; a most famous; Ye have kill'd a Maid the wrong way, ye are a conqueror. Ros. A Conquerour? a Cobler; hang him Sowter; Go hide thy self for shame, go lose thy memory; Live not 'mongst Men; thou art a Beast, a Monster; A Blatant Beast. Lil. If ye have yet any honesty, Or ever heard of any; take my Counsel; Off with your Garters: and seek out a Bough, A handsom Bough; (for I would have ye hang like a Gentleman;) And write some doleful matter to the World, A Warning to hard hearted men. Mir. Out Kitlings: What Catterwauling's here? what Gibbing? Do you think my heart is softned with a black Santis? Shew me some reason.

Ros. Here then, here is a reason. Nant. Now, if ye be a man, let this sight shake ye. La-C. Alas poor Gentlewoman! do you know me, Lady? Lug. How she looks up, and stares! Ori. I know ye very well; You are my Godfather; and that's the Monsieur. De-Gar. And who am I? Ori. You are Amadis de Gaul, Sir. Oh oh, my heart! were ye never in love, sweet Lady? And do you never dream of Flowers and Gardens? I dream of walking Fires; take heed, it comes now; Who's that? pray stand away; I have seen that face sure; How light my head is! Ros. Take some rest. Ori. I cannot, For I must be up to morrow to go to Church, And I must dress me, put my new Gown on, And be as fine to meet my Love: Heigh ho! Will not you tell me where my Love lies buried? Mir. He is not dead: beshrew my heart, she stirs me. Ori. He is dead to me. Mir. Is't possible my Nature Should be so damnable, to let her suffer? Give me your hand. Ori. How soft you feel, how gentle! I'll tell you your fortune, Friend. Mir. How she stares on me! Or. You have a flattering face, but 'tis a fine one; I warrant you may have a hundred Sweet-hearts; Will ye pray for me? I shall dye to morrow, And will ye ring the Bells? Mir. I am most unworthy, I do confess, unhappy; do you know me? Ori. I would I did. Mir. Oh fair tears, how ye take me! Ori. Do you weep too? you have not lost your Lover; You mock me; I'l go home, and pray. Mir. 'Pray ye pardon me: Or if it please ye to consider justly, Scorn me, for I deserve it: Scorn, and shame me: Sweet Oriana. Lil. Let her alone, she trembles; Her fits will grow more strong if ye provoke her. La Cas. Certain she knows ye not, yet loves to see ye: How she smiles now!

Bel. Where are ye? Oh, why do [not] you laugh? come, laugh at me; What a Devil! art thou sad, and such a subject, Such a ridiculous subject as I am Before thy face? Mir. Prithee put off this lightness; This is no time for mirth, nor place; I have us'd too much on't: I have undone my self, and a sweet Lady, By being too indulgent to my foolery, Which truly I repent; look here. Bel. What ails she? Mir. Alas, she's mad. Bel. Mad? Mir. Yes, too sure for me too. Bel. Dost thou wonder at that? by this [good] light they are all so; They are coz'ning mad, they are brawling mad, they are proud mad: They are all, all mad; I came from a World of mad Women. Mad as March-Hares; get 'em in Chains, then deal with 'em. There's one that's mad; she seems well, but she is dog-mad. Is she dead dost' think? Mi[r]. Dead! Heaven forbid. Bel. Heaven further it; For till they be key cold dead, there's no trusting of 'em, Whate'r they seem, or howsoe'r they carry it, Till they be chap-faln, and their Tongues at peace, Nail'd in their Coffins sure, I'll ne'r believe 'em, Shall I talk with her? Mir. No, dear friend, be quiet, And be at peace a while. Bel. I'll walk aside, And come again anon: but take heed to her, You say she is a Woman? Mir. Yes. Bel. Take great heed: For if she do not cozen thee, then hang me. Let her be mad, or what she will, she'll cheat thee. [Exit. Mir. Away, wild Fool: how vile this shews in him now! Now take my faith, before ye all I speak it, And with it, my repentant love. La-C. This seems well. Mir. Were but this Lady clear again, whose sorrows My very heart melts for; were she but perfect (For thus to marry her would be two miseries,) Before the richest and the noblest Beauty, France, or the World could shew me; I would take her As she is now, my Tears and Prayers shall wed her. De-Gar. This makes some small amends. Ros. She beckons to ye, To us too, to go off. Nant. Let's draw aside all. Ori. Oh my best friend; I would fain. Mir. What? she speaks well, And with another voice. Ori. But I am fearful, And shame a little stops my tongue. Mir. Speak boldly. Ori. Tell ye, I am well, I am perfect well: 'pray ye mock not; And that I did this to provoke your Nature, Out of my infinite and restless love, To win your pity; pardon me. Mir. Go forward; Who set ye on? Ori. None, as I live, no Creature; Not any knew, or ever dream'd what I meant; Will ye be mine? Mir. 'Tis true, I pity ye: But when I marry ye, ye must be wiser: Nothing but Tricks? Devices? Ori. Will ye shame me? Mir. Yes, marry will I: Come near, come near, a miracle; The Woman's well; she was only mad for Marriage, Stark mad to be ston'd to death; give her good counsel, Will this world never mend? are ye caught, Damsel?

Bel. How goes it now? Mir. Thou art a kind of Prophet, The Woman's well again, and would have gull'd me; Well, excellent well: and not a taint upon her. Bel. Did not I tell ye? Let 'em be what can be; Saints, Devils, any thing, they will abuse us; Thou wert an Ass to believe her so long, a Coxcomb; Give 'em a minute they'll abuse whole millions. Mir. And am not I a rare Physician, Gentlemen, That can cure desperate mad minds? De Gar. Be not insolent. Mir. Well, go thy waies: from this hour, I disclaim thee, Unless thou hast a trick above this: then I'le love thee. Ye owe me for your Cure; pray have a care of her, For fear she fall into Relapse: come Belleur We'll set up Bills, to Cure Diseased Virgins. Bel. Shall we be merry? Mir. Yes. Bel. But I'le no more projects; If we could make 'em mad, it were some mastery. [Exeunt. Lil. I am glad she is well again. Ros. So am I, certain, Be not ashamed. Oria. I shall never see a man more. De Gar. Come ye are a fool: had ye but told me this trick, He should not have gloried thus. Lug. He shall not long neither. La-C. Be rul'd, and be at peace: ye have my consent, And what power I can work with. Nant. Come, leave blushing; We are your friends; an honest way compell'd ye; Heaven will not see so true a love unrecompenc'd; Come in, and slight him too. Lug. The next shall hit him. [Exeunt.

De G. 'T will be discover'd. Lug. That's the worst can happen: If there be any way to reach, and work upon him; Upon his nature suddenly, and catch him: that he loves, Though he dissemble it, and would shew contrary, And will at length relent, I'le lay my Fortune, Nay more, my life. De G. Is she won? Lug. Yes, and ready, And my designments set. De G. They are now for Travel, All for that Game again: they have forgot wooing. Lug. Let 'em; we'll travel with 'em. De G. Where's his Father? Lug. Within; he knows my mind too and allows it; Pities your Sisters Fortune most sincerely; And has appointed, for our more assistance, Some of his secret Friends. De G. 'Speed the Plough. Lug. Well said; And be you serious too. De G. I shall be diligent. Lug. Let's break the Ice for one, the rest will drink too (Believe me, Sir) of the same Cup; my young Gentlewomen Wait but who sets the game a foot; though they seem stubborn, Reserv'd, and proud now, yet I know their hearts, Their Pulses how they beat, and for what cause, Sir; And how they long to venture their Abilities In a true Quarrel; Husbands they must, and will have, Or Nunneries, and thin Collations To cool their bloods; let's all about our business, And if this fail, let Nature work. De G. Ye have arm'd me. [Exeunt.