you
Those fears you and your good Aunt put upon me,
To make you sport, you had given a little hint,
A touch or so, to tell me I was mortal,
And by a mortal woman?

_Ana._ Pray you no more.

_Cler._ If I had loos'd that virgin Zone, observe me,
I would have hired the best of all our Poets
To have sung so much, and so well in the honour
Of that nights joy, that _Ovids_ afternoon,
Nor his _Corinna_ should again be mention'd.

_Ana._ I do repent, and wish I had.

_Cler._ That's comfort,
But now--

_2 Gent._ Another that will have it offer'd,
Compel it to be offer'd, shall enjoy it.

_Cler._ A rogue, a ruffian.

_2 Gent._ As you love your throat,--

_1 Gent._ Away with them.

_Ana._ O _Cleremont_!

_Lam._ O _Dinant_!

_Din._ I can but add your sorrows to my sorrows,
Your fears to my fears.

_Cler._ To your wishes mine,
This slave may prove unable to perform,
Till I perform the task that I was born for.

_Ana._ Amen, amen.

_1 Gent._ Drag the slaves hence, for you
A while I'le lock you up here, study all ways
You can to please me, or the deed being done,
You are but dead.

_2 Gen._ This strong Vault shall contain you,
There think how many for your maidenhead
Have pin'd away, and be prepar'd to lose it
With penitence.

_1 Gent._ No humane help can save you.

_Ladyes._ Help, help!

_2 Gent._ You cry in vain, rocks cannot hear you.

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

A Horrid noise of Musique within,
_Enter one and opens the door, in which_ Lamira _and_
Anabel _were shut, they in all fear_.

_Lam._ O Cousin how I shake all this long night!
What frights and noises we have heard, still they encrease,
The villains put on shapes to torture us,
And to their Devils form such preparations
As if they were a hatching new dishonours,
And fatal ruine, past dull mans invention.
Goe not too far, and pray good Cousin _Anabel_,
Hark a new noise. [_A strange Musick. Sackbut & Troop Musick._

_Ana._ They are exquisite in mischief,
I will goe on, this room gives no protection,
More than the next, what's that? how sad and hollow,
The sound comes to us. [_Thieves peeping. Louder._

_Lam._ Groaning? or singing is it?

_Ana._ The wind I think, murmuring amongst old rooms.

_Lam._ Now it grows lowder, sure some sad presage
Of our foul loss--look now they peep.

_Ana._ Pox peep 'em.

_Lam._ O give them gentle language.

_Ana._ Give 'em rats-bane. [_Peep