Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter Duarte, Doctor.

Dua. You have bestow’d on me a second life,
For which I live your creature, and have better’d
What nature fram’d unperfect, my first being
Insolent pride made monstrous; but this later
In learning me to know my self, hath taught me
Not to wrong others.

Doct. Then we live indeed,
When we can goe to rest without alarm
Given every minute to a guilt-sick conscience
To keep us waking, and rise in the morning
Secure in being innocent: but when
In the remembrance of our worser actions
We ever bear about us whips and furies,
To make the day a night of sorrow to us,
Even life’s a burthen.

Dua. I have found and felt it;
But will endeavour having first made peace
With those intestine enemies my rude passions,
To be so with man-kind: but worthy Doctor,
Pray if you can resolve me; was the Gentleman
That left me dead, ere brought unto his tryal?

Doct. Not known, nor apprehended.

Dua. That’s my grief.

Doct. Why, do you wish he had been punished?

Dua. No,
The stream of my swoln sorrow runs not that way:
For could I find him, as I vow to Heaven
It shall be my first care to seek him out,
I would with thanks acknowledge that his sword,
In opening my veins, which proud bloud poison’d,
Gave the first symptoms of true health.

Doct. ’Tis in you
A Christian resolution: that you live
Is by the Governours, your Uncles charge
As yet conceal’d. And though a sons loss never
Was solemniz’d with more tears of true sorrow
Than have been paid by your unequal’d Mother
For your supposed death, she’s not acquainted
With your recovery.

Dua. For some few dayes Pray let her so continue: thus disguis’d I may abroad unknown.

Doct. Without suspicion Of being discovered.

Dua. I am confident
No moisture sooner dies than womens tears,
And therefore though I know my Mother vertuous,
Yet being one of that frail sex I purpose
Her farther tryal.

Doct. That as you think fit-I’le not betray you.

Dua. To find out this stranger
This true Physician of my mind and manners
Were such a blessing. He seem’d poor, and may
Perhaps be now in want; would I could find him.
The Innes I’le search first, then the publick Stewes;
He was of Italy, and that Country breeds not
Precisians that way, but hot Libertines;
And such the most are: ’tis but a little travail:
I am unfurnisht too, pray Mr. Doctor,
Can you supply me?

Doct. With what summ you please.

Dua. I will not be long absent.

Doct. That I wish too; For till you have more strength, I would not have you To be too bold.

Dua. Fear not, I will be carefull. [Exeunt.

Enter Leopold, Zabulon, Bravo.

Zab. I have brought him Sir, a fellow that will do it Though Hell stood in his way, ever provided You pay him for’t.

Leop. He has a strange aspect, And looks much like the figure of a hang-man In a table of the Passion.

Zab. He transcends
All precedents, believe it, a flesh’d ruffian,
That hath so often taken the Strappado,
That ’tis to him but as a lofty trick
Is to a tumbler: he hath perused too
All Dungeons in Portual, thrice seven years
Rowed in the Galleys for three several murthers,
Though I presume that he has done a hundred,
And scap’t unpunisht.

Leop. He is much in debt to you, You set him off so well. What will you take Sir To beat a fellow for me, that thus wrong’d me?

Bra. To beat him say you?

Leop. Yes, beat him to lameness, To cut his lips or nose off; any thing, That may disfigure him.

Bra. Let me consider? Five hundred pistolets for such a service I think were no dear penniworth.

Zab. Five hundred! Why there are of your Brother-hood in the City, I’le undertake, shall kill a man for twenty.

Bra. Kill him? I think so; I’le kill any man For half the mony.

Leop. And will you ask more For a sound beating than a murther?

Bra. I Sir,
And with good reason, for a dog that’s dead,
The Spanish proverb says, will never bite:
But should I beat or hurt him only, he may
Recover, and kill me.

Leo. A good conclusion,
The obduracie of this rascal makes me tender.
I’le run some other course, there’s your reward
Without the employment.

Bra. For that as you please Sir; When you have need to kill a man, pray use me, But I am out at beating. [Exit.

Zab. What’s to be done then?

Leop. I’le tell thee Zabulon, and make thee privy
To my most near designs: this stranger, which
Hippolyta so dotes on, was my prisoner
When the last Virgin, I bestowed upon her,
Was made my prize; how he escaped, hereafter
I’le let thee know; and it may be the love
He bears the servant, makes him scorn the Mistris.

Zab. ’Tis not unlike; for the first time he saw her
His looks exprest so much, and for more proof
Since he came to my Ladys house, though yet
He never knew her, he hath practis’d with me
To help him to a conference, without
The knowledge of Hippolyta; which I promis’d.

Leop. And by all means perform it for their meeting,
But work it so, that my disdainful Mistris
(Whom, notwithstanding all her injuries,
’Tis my hard fate to love) may see and hear them.

Zab. To what end Sir?

Leop. This Zabulon: when she sees
Who is her rival, and her Lovers baseness
To leave a Princess for her bondwoman,
The sight will make her scorn, what now she dotes on,
I’le double thy reward.

Zab. You are like to speed then:
For I confess what you will soon believe,
We serve them best that are most apt to give,
For you, I’le place you where you shall see all, and yet be unobserv’d.

Leop. That I desire too. [Exeunt.

Enter Arnoldo.

Arn. I cannot see her yet, how it afflicts me The poyson of this place should mix it self With her pure thoughts? ’Twas she that was commanded, Or my eyes failed me grosly; that youth, that face And all that noble sweetness. May she not live here, And yet be honest still?

Enter Zenocia.

Zen. It is Arnoldo,
From all his dangers free; fortune I bless thee.
My noble husband! how my joy swells in me,
But why in this place? what business hath he here?
He cannot hear of me, I am not known here.
I left him vertuous; how I shake to think now!
And how that joy I had, cools, and forsakes me!

Enter above Hippolyta and Zabulon.

This Lady is but fair, I have been thought so
Without compare admired; She has bewitched him
And he forgot-

Arn. ’Tis she again, the same-the same Zenocia.

Zab. There they are together.-Now you may mark.

Hip. Peace, let ’em parly.

Arn. That you are well Zenocia, and once more Bless my despairing eyes, with your wisht presence, I thank the gods; but that I meet you here-

Hip. They are acquainted.

Zab. I found that secret Madam, When you comanded her go home: pray hear ’em.

Zen. That you meet me here, ne’re blush at that Arnoldo.
Your coming comes too late: I am a woman,
And one woman with another may be trusted;
Do you fear the house?

Arn. More than a fear, I know it, Know it not good, not honest.

Zen. What do you here then?
I’th’ name of vertue why do you approach it?
Will you confess the doubt and yet pursue it?
Where have your eyes been wandring, my Arnoldo?
What constancy, what faith do you call this? Fie,
Aim at one wanton mark, and wound another?
I do confess, the Lady fair, most beauteous,
And able to betray a strong mans liberty,
[Leopold places himself unseen below.
But you that have a love, a wife-you do well
To deal thus wisely with me: yet Arnoldo,
Since you are pleas’d to study a new beauty,
And think this old and ill, beaten with misery,
Study a nobler way for shame to love me,
Wrong not her honesty.

Arn. You have confirm’d me.

Zen. Who though she be your wife, will never hinder you,
So much I rest a servant to your wishes,
And love your Loves, though they be my destructions,
No man shall know me, nor the share I have in thee,
No eye suspect I am able to prevent you,
For since I am a slave to this great Lady,
Whom I perceive you follow,

Arn. Be not blinded.

Zen. Fortune shall make me useful to your service, I will speak for you.

Arn. Speak for me? you wrong me.

Zen. I will endeavour all the wayes I am able To make her think well of you; will that please? To make her dote upon you, dote to madness, So far against my self I will obey you. But when that’s done, and I have shewed this duty, This great obedience, few will buy it at my price, Thus will I shake hands with you, wish you well, But never see you more, nor receive comfort From any thing, Arnoldo.

Arn. You are too tender;
I neither doubt you, nor desire longer
To be a man, and live, than I am honest
And only yours; our infinite affections
Abus’d us both.

Zab. Where are your favours now? The courtesies you shew’d this stranger, Madam?

Hip. Have I now found the cause?

Zab. Attend it further.

Zen. Did she invite you, do you say?

Arn. Most cunningly, And with a preparation of that state I was brought in and welcom’d.

Zen. Seem’d to love you?

Arn. Most infinitely, at first sight, most dotingly.

Zen. She is a goodly Lady.

Arn. Wondrous handsom:
At first view, being taken unprepar’d,
Your memory not present then to assist me,
She seem’d so glorious sweet, and so far stir’d me,
Nay be not jealous, there’s no harm done.

Zen. Prethee-didst thou not kiss, Arnoldo?

Arn. Yes faith did I.

Zen. And then-

Arn. I durst not, did not-

Zen. I forgive you, Come tell the truth.

Arn. May be I lay with her.

Hip. He mocks me too, most basely.

Zen. Did ye faith? did ye forget so far?

Arn. Come, come, no weeping;
I would have lyen first in my grave, believe that.
Why will you ask those things you would not hear?
She is too untemperate to betray my vertues,
Too openly lascivious: had she dealt
But with that seeming modesty she might,
And flung a little Art upon her ardor,
But ’twas forgot, and I forgot to like her,
And glad I was deceiv’d. No my Zenocia,
My first love here begun, rests here unreapt yet,
And here for ever.

Zen. You have made me happy, Even in the midst of bondage blest.

Zab. You see now What rubs are in your way.

Hip. And quickly Zabulon I’le root ’em out.-Be sure you do this presently.

Zab. Do not you alter then.

Hip. I am resolute. [Exit Zabulon.

Arn. To see you only I came hither last, Drawn by no love of hers, nor base allurements, For by this holy light I hate her heartily.

Leop. I am glad of that, you have sav’d me so much vengeance
And so much fear,
From this hour fair befal you.

Arn. Some means I shall make shortly to redeem you, Till when, observe her well, and fit her temper, Only her lust contemn.

Zen. When shall I see you?

Arn. I will live hereabouts, and bear her fair still, Till I can find a fit hour to redeem you.

Hip. Shut all the doors.

Arn. Who’s that?

Zen. We are betray’d, The Lady of the house has heard our parly, Seen us, and seen our Loves.

Hip. You courteous Gallant,
You that scorn all I can bestow, that laugh at
The afflictions, and the groans I suffer for you,
That slight and jeer my love, contemn the fortune
My favours can fling on you, have I caught you?
Have I now found the cause? ye fool my wishes;
Is mine own slave, my bane? I nourish that
That sucks up my content. I’le pray no more,
Nor wooe no more; thou shalt see foolish man,
And to thy bitter pain and anguish, look on
The vengeance I shall take, provok’d and slighted;
Redeem her then, and steal her hence: ho Zabulon
Now to your work.

Enter Zabulon, and Servants, some holding Arnoldo, some ready with a cord to strangle Zenocia.

Arn. Lady, but hear me speak first, As you have pity.

Hip. I have none. You taught me, When I even hung about your neck, you scorn’d me.

Zab. Shall we pluck yet?

Hip. No, hold a little Zabulon, I’le pluck his heart-strings first: now am I worthy A little of your love?

Arn. I’le be your Servant, Command me through what danger you shall aime at, Let it be death.

Hip. Be sure Sir, I shall fit you.

Arn. But spare this Virgin.

Hip. I would spare that villain first, Had cut my Fathers throat.

Arn. Bounteous Lady, If in your sex there be that noble softness, That tenderness of heart, women are crown’d for-

Zen. Kneel not Arnoldo, doe her not that honour,
She is not worthy such submission,
I scorn a life depends upon her pity.
Proud woman do thy worst, and arm thy anger
With thoughts as black as Hell, as hot and bloody,
I bring a patience here, shall make ’em blush,
An innocence, shall outlook thee, and death too.

Arn. Make me your slave, I give my freedom to ye,
For ever to be fetter’d to your service;
’Twas I offended, be not so unjust then,
To strike the innocent, this gentle maid
Never intended fear and doubt against you:
She is your Servant, pay not her observance
With cruel looks, her duteous faith with death.

Hip. Am I fair now? now am I worth your liking?

Zen. Not fair, not to be liked, thou glorious Devil, Thou vernisht piece of lust, thou painted fury.

Arn. Speak gently sweet, speak gently.

Zen. I’le speak nobly.
’Tis not the saving of a life I aim at,
Mark me lascivious woman, mark me truly,
And then consider, how I weigh thy anger.
Life is no longer mine, nor dear unto me,
Than usefull to his honour I preserve it.
If thou hadst studied all the courtesies
Humanity and noble blood are linkt to,
Thou couldst not have propounded such a benefit,
Nor heapt upon me such unlookt for honour
As dying for his sake, to be his Martyr,
’Tis such a grace.

Hip. You shall not want that favour, Let your bones work miracles.

Arn. Dear Lady By those fair eyes-

Hip. There is but this way left ye To save her life.-

Arn. Speak it, and I embrace it.

Hip. Come to my private chamber presently, And there, what love and I command-

Arn. I’le doe it, Be comforted Zenocia.

Zen. Do not do this
To save me, do not lose your self I charge you,
I charge you by your love, that love [you] bear me;
That love, that constant love you have twin’d to me,
By all your promises, take heed you keep ’em,
Now is your constant tryal. If thou dost this,
Or mov’st one foot, to guide thee to her lust,
My curses and eternal hate pursue thee.
Redeem me at the base price of dis-loyalty?
Must my undoubted honesty be thy Bawd too?
Go and intwine thy self about that body;
Tell her, for my life thou hast lost thine honour,
Pull’d all thy vows from heaven, basely, most basely
Stoop’d to the servile flames of that foul woman,
To add an hour to me that hate thee for it,
Know thee not again, nor name thee for a Husband.

Arn. What shall I do to save her?

Hip. How now, what hast there?

Enter a Servant.

Ser. The Governour, attended with some Gentlemen, Are newly entred, to speak with your Ladiship.

Hip. Pox o’ their business, reprieve her for this hour, I shall have other time.

Arn. Now fortune help us.

Hip. I’le meet ’em presently: retire awhile all. [Exeunt.

Zab. You rise to day upon your right side Lady;
You know the danger too, and may prevent it,
And if you suffer her to perish thus,
As she must do, and suddenly, believe it,
Unless you stand her friend; you know the way on’t,
I guess you poorly love her, less your fortune.
Let her know nothing, and perform this matter,
There are hours ordained for several businesses,
You understand.

Arn. I understand you Bawd Sir, And such a Counsellour I never car’d for.

Enter the Governour, Clodio, Leopold, Charino and Attendants at one door, Hippolyta at the other.

Hip. Your Lordship does me honour.

Gover. Fair Hippolyta, I am come to ease you of a charge.

Hip. I keep none I count a burthen Sir: and yet I lye too.

Gover. Which is the Maid; is she here?

Clod. Yes Sir,
This is she, this is Zenocia,
The very same I sued to your Lordship for.

Zen. Clodio again? more misery? more ruin? Under what angry star is my life govern’d?

Gov. Come hither Maid, you are once more a free woman, Here I discharge your bonds.

Arn. Another smile, Another trick of fortune to betray us!

Hip. Why does your Lordship use me so unnobly? Against my will to take away my bond-woman?

Gov. She was no lawful prize, therefore no bond-woman:
She’s of that Country we hold friendship with,
And ever did, and therefore to be used
With entertainment, fair and courteous.
The breach of League in us gives foul example,
Therefore you must be pleas’d to think this honest;
Did you know what she was?

Leop. Not till this instant; For had I known her, she had been no prisoner.

Gov. There, take the Maid, she is at her own dispose now, And if there be ought else to do your honour Any poor service in-

Clod. I am vowed your servant.

Arn. Your Father’s here too, that’s our only comfort, And in a Country now, we stand free people, Where Clodio has no power, be comforted.

Zen. I fear some trick yet.

Arn. Be not so dejected.

Gover. You must not be displeas’d; so farewel Lady. Come Gentlemen; Captain, you must with me too, I have a little business.

Leop. I attend your Lordship:
Now my way’s free, and my hope’s Lord again.
[Exeunt all but Hip. and Zab.

Hip. D’ye jeer me now ye are going? I may live yet-to make you howl both.

Zab. You might have done; you had power then,
But now the chains are off, the command lost,
And such a story they will make of this
To laugh out lazie time.

Hip. No means yet left me? For now I burst with anger: none to satisfie me? No comfort? no revenge?

Zab. You speak too late; You might have had all these, your useful servants, Had you been wise, and suddain: what power, or will Over her beauty, have you now? by violence To constrain his love; she is as free as you are, And no law can impeach her liberty, And whilst she is so, Arnoldo will despise you.

Hip. Either my love or anger must be satisfied, Or I must dye.

Zab. I have a way wou’d do it, Wou’d do it yet, protect me from the Law.

Hip. From any thing; thou knowest what power I have, What mony, and what friends.

Zab. ’Tis a devilish one: But such must now be us’d: walk in, I’le tell you; And if you like it, if the Devil can do any thing-

Hip. Devil, or what thou wilt, so I be satisfied. [Ex.

Enter Sulpitia, and Jaques.

Sulp. This is the rarest and the lustiest fellow, And so bestirs himself-

Jaq. Give him breath Mistress, You’l melt him else.

Sulp. He does perform such wonders- The women are mad on him.

Jaq. Give him breath I say; The man is but a man, he must have breath.

Sulp. How many had he yesterday? And they paid bravely too.

Jaq. About fourteen, But still I cry give breath, spare him and have him.

Sulp. Five Dames to day; this was a small stage, He may endure five more.

Jaq. Breath, breath I cry still; Body o’ me give breath, the man’s a lost man else. Feed him and give him breath.

Enter 2 Gentlewomen.

Sulp. Welcome Gentlewomen, Y’are very welcome.

1 Gen. We hear you have a lusty and well complexion’d fellow That does rare tricks; my Sister and my self here, Would trifle out an hour or two, so please you.

Sulp. Jaques, conduct ’em in.

Both. There’s for your courtesie. [Ex. Jaq. and Gent.

Sulp. Good pay still, good round pay, this happy fellow
Will set me up again; he brings in gold
Faster than I have leisure to receive it.
O that his body were not flesh and fading;
But I’le so pap him up-nothing too dear for him;
What a sweet scent he has?-Now what news Jaques?

Jaq. He cannot last, I pity the poor man,
I suffer for him; two Coaches of young City dames,
And they drive as the Devil were in the wheels,
Are ready now to enter: and behind these
An old dead-palsied Lady in a Litter,
And she makes all the haste she can: the man’s lost,
You may gather up his dry bones to make Nine-pins,
But for his flesh.

Sulp. These are but easie labours Yet, for I know he must have rest.

Ja. He must-you’ll beat him off his legs else presently.

Sul. Go in, and bid him please himself, I am pleas’d too: To morrow’s a new day; but if he can I would have him take pity o’ the old Lady. Alas ’tis charity.

Jaq. I’le tell him all this, And if he be not too fool-hardy.

Enter Zabulon.

Sulp. How now? What news with you?

Zab. You must presently Shew all the art you have, and for my Lady.

Sulp. She may command.

Zab. You must not dream nor trifle.

Sulp. Which way?

Zab. A spell you must prepare, a powerful one, Peruse but these directions, you shall find all; There is the picture too, be quick, and faithful, And do it with that strength-when ’tis perform’d, Pitch your reward at what you please, you have it.

Sul. I’le do my best, and suddenly: but hark ye, Will you never lye at home again?

Zab. Excuse me, I have too much business yet.

Sulp. I am right glad on’t.

Zab. Think on your business, so farewel.

Sulp. I’le do it.

Zab. Within this hour I’le visit you again And give you greater lights.

Sulp. I shall observe ye; This brings a brave reward, bravely I’le do it, And all the hidden art I have, express in’t. [Exeunt at both doors.

Enter Rutilio with a Night-cap.

Rut. Now do I look as if I were Crow-trodden,
Fye, how my hams shrink under me! O me,
I am broken-winded too; is this a life?
Is this the recreation I have aim’d at?
I had a body once, a handsome body,
And wholesome too. Now I appear like a rascal,
That had been hung a year or two in Gibbets.
Fye how I faint! women? keep me from women;
Place me before a Cannon, ’tis a pleasure;
Stretch me upon a Rack, a recreation;
But women? women? O the Devil! women?
Curtius Gulf was never half so dangerous.
Is there no way to find the Trap-door again,
And fall into the Cellar, and be taken?
No lucky fortune to direct me that way?
No Gallies to be got, nor yet no Gallows?
For I fear nothing now, no earthly thing
But these unsatisfied Men-leeches, women.
How devilishly my bones ake! O the old Lady!
I have a kind of waiting-woman lyes cross my back too,
O how she stings! no treason to deliver me?
Now what are you? do you mock me?

Enter 3. with Night-caps very faintly.

1 No Sir, no; We were your Predecessors in this place.

2 And come to see you bear up.

Rut. Good Gentlemen; You seem to have a snuffing in your head Sir, A parlous snuffing, but this same dampish air-

2 A dampish air indeed.

Rut. Blow your face tenderly, Your nose will ne’re endure it: mercy o’ me, What are men chang’d to here? is my nose fast yet? Me thinks it shakes i’th’ hilts: pray tell me gentlemen, How long is’t since you flourisht here?

3 Not long since.

Rut. Move your self easily, I see you are tender, Nor long endured.

2 The labour was so much Sir, And so few to perform it-

Rut. Must I come to this? And draw my legs after me like a lame Dog? I cannot run away, I am too feeble: Will you sue for this place again Gentlemen?

1 No truly Sir, the place has been too warm for our complexions. We have enough on’t, rest you merry Sir, We came but to congratulate your fortune, You have abundance.

3 Bear your fortune soberly, And so we leave you to the next fair Lady. [Ex. the 3.

Rut. Stay but a little, and I’le meet you Gentlemen,
At the next Hospital: there’s no living thus,
Nor am I able to endure it longer,
With all the helps and heats that can be given me,
I am at my trot already: they are fair and young
Most of the women that repair unto me,
But they stick on like Burs, shake me like Feathers.

Enter Sulpitia.

More Women yet?
Would I were honestly married
To any thing that had but half a face,
And not a groat to keep her, nor a smock,
That I might be civilly merry when I pleased,
Rather than labouring in these Fulling-mills.

Sul. By this the spell begins to work: you are lusty, I see you bear up bravely yet.

Rut. Do you hear Lady, Do not make a game-bear of me, to play me hourly, And fling on all your whelps; it would not hold; Play me with some discretion; to day one course, And two dayes hence another.

Sulp. If you be so angry Pay back the mony I redeem’d you at And take your course, I can have men enough: You have cost me a hundred crowns since you came hither, In Broths and strengthing Caudles; till you do pay me, If you will eat and live, you shall endeavour, I’le chain you to’t else.

Rut. Make me a Dog-kennel,
I’le keep your house and bark, and feed on bare bones,
And be whipt out o’ doors,
Do you mark me Lady? whipt,
I’le eat old shoes.

Enter Duarte.

Dua. In this house I am told
There is a stranger, of a goodly person,
And such a one there was; if I could see him,
I yet remember him.

Sulp. Your business Sir, If it be for a woman, ye are couzen’d, I keep none here. [Exit.

Dua. Certain this is the Gentleman; The very same.

Rut. Death, if I had but mony,
Or any friend to bring me from this bondage,
I would Thresh, set up a Cobler’s shop, keep Hogs,
And feed with ’em, sell Tinder-boxes,
And Knights of Ginger-bread, Thatch for three
Half pence a day, and think it Lordly,
From this base Stallion trade: why does he eye me,
Eye me so narrowly?

Dua. It seems you are troubled Sir, I heard you speak of want.

Rut. ’Tis better hearing Far, than relieving Sir.

Dua. I do not think so, you know me not.

Rut. Not yet that I remember.

Dua. You shall, and for your friend: I am beholding to ye,
Greatly beholding Sir; if you remember,
You fought with such a man, they call’d Duarte,
A proud distemper’d man: he was my enemy,
My mortal foe, you slew him fairly, nobly.

Rut. Speak softly Sir, you do not mean to betray me, I wisht the Gallows, now th’are coming fairly.

Dua. Be confident, for as I live, I love you, And now you shall perceive it: for that service, Me, and my purse command: there, take it to ye, ’Tis gold, and no small sum, a thousand Duckets, Supply your want.

Rut. But do you do this faithfully?

Dua. If I mean ill, spit in my face and kick me: In what else I may serve you, Sir-

Rut. I thank you, This is as strange to me as Knights adventures. I have a project, ’tis an honest one, And now I’le tempt my fortune.

Dua. Trust me with it.

Rut. You are so good and honest I must trust ye, ’Tis but to carry a letter to a Lady That sav’d my life once.

Dua. That will be most thankful, I will do’t with all care.

Rut. Where are you, white-broth?
Now lusty blood,
Come in, and tell your mony:
’Tis ready here, no threats, nor no orations,
Nor prayers now.

Sulp. You do not mean to leave me.

Rut. I’le live in Hell sooner than here, and cooler. Come quickly come, dispatch, this air’s unwhosom: Quickly good Lady, quickly to’t.

Sulp. Well, since it must be, The next I’le fetter faster sure, and closer.

Rut. And pick his bones, as y’have done mine, pox take ye.

Dua. At my lodging for a while, you shall be quartered, And there take Physick for your health.

Rut. I thank ye, I have found my angel now too, if I can keep him.
[Exeunt omnes.