traytor?
Perish by a proud Puppet? I did you too much honour,
To tender you my love, too much respected you
To think you worthy of my worst embraces.
Go take your Groom, and let him dally with you,
Your greasie Groom; I scorn to imp your lame stock,
You are not fair, nor handsome, I lyed loudly,
This tongue abus'd you when it spoke you beauteous.

_Lam._ 'Tis very well, 'tis brave.

_Din._ Put out your light,
Your lascivious eyes are flames enough
For Fools to find you out; a Lady Plotter!
Must I begin your sacrifice of mischief?
I and my friend, the first-fruits of that bloud,
You and your honourable Husband aim at?
Crooked and wretched you are both.

_Lam._ To you, Sir,
Yet to the Eye of Justice straight as Truth.

_Din._ Is this a womans love? a womans mercy?
Do you profess this seriously? do you laugh at me?

_Lam._ Ha, ha.

_Din._ Pl---- light upon your scorns, upon your flatteries,
Upon your tempting faces, all destructions;
A bedrid winter hang upon your cheeks,
And blast, blast, blast those buds of Pride that paint you;
Death in your eyes to fright men from these dangers:
Raise up your trophy, _Cleremont_.

_Cler._ What a vengeance ail you?

_Din._ What dismal noise! is there no honour in you?
_Cleremont_, we are betrayed, betrayed, sold by a woman;
Deal bravely for thy self.

_Cler._ This comes of rutting;
Are we made stales to one another?

_Din._ Yes, we are undone, lost.

_Cler._ You shall pay for't grey-beard.
Up, up, you sleep your last else. {_Lights above, two Servants
{and_ Anabel.
_1 Serv._ No, not yet, Sir,
Lady, look up, would you have wrong'd this Beauty?
Wake so tender a Virgin with rough terms?
You wear a Sword, we must entreat you leave it.

_2 Serv._ Fye Sir, so sweet a Lady?

_Cler._ Was this my bed-fellow, pray give me leave to look,
I am not mad yet, I may be by and by.
Did this lye by me?
Did I fear this? is this a Cause to shake at?
Away with me for shame, I am a Rascal.

_Enter_ Champernel, Beaupre, Verdone, Lamira, Anabel,
Cleremont, _and two Servants_.

_Din._ I am amaz'd too.

_Beaup._ We'll recover you.

_Verd._ You walk like _Robin-good-fellow_ all the house over,
And every man afraid of you.

_Din._ 'Tis well, Lady;
The honour of this deed will be your own,
The world shall know your bounty.

_Beaup._ What shall we do with 'em?

_Cler._ Geld me,
For 'tis not fit I should be a man again,
I am