nd had beene quite shot through 'tween winde and water
By a she Dunkirke, and had sprung a leake, Sir.
Certaine my master was too blame. _Mir._ Why _Andrew_?

_And._ To take away the Wench oth' sudden from him,
And give him no lawful warning, he is tender;
And of a young girles constitution, Sir,
Readie to get the greene sickness with conceit;
Had he but tane his leave innavailing language,
Or bought an Elegie of his condolement,
That th' world might have tane notice, he had beene
An Asse, 't had beene some favour. _Mir._ Thou sayest true,
Wise _Andrew_, but these Schollars are such things
When they can prattle. _And._ Very parlous things Sir.

_Mir._ And when they gaine the Libertie to distinguish
The difference 'twixt a father and a foole,
To looke below and spie a younger brother
Pruning up and dressing up his expectations
In a rare glasse of beauty, too good for him:
Those dreaming Scholars then turne Tyrants, _Andrew_,
And shew no mercy. _And._ The more's the pittie, Sir.

_Mir._ Thou told'st me of a trick to catch my brother,
And anger him a little farther, _Andrew_,
It shall be onely anger I assure thee,
And little shame. _And._ And I can fit you, Sir;
Hark in your eare. _Mir._ Thy wife? _And._ So I assure ye;
This night at twelve a clock. _Mir._ Tis neat and handsome;
There are twentie Crownes due to thy project _Andrew_;
I've time to visit _Charles_, and see what Lecture
He reades to his Mistresse. That done, Ile not faile
To be with you. _And._ Nor I to watch my Master-- _Exeunt._

_Actus IV. Scaena III._

Angellina, Sylvia, _with a taper._

I'me worse than ere I was; for now I feare,
That that I love, that that I onely dote on;
He followes me through every roome I passe,
And with a strong set eye he gazes on me,
As if his spark of innocence were blowne
Into a flame of lust; Vertue defend me.
His Uncle to is absent, and 'tis night;
And what these opportunities may teach him--
What feare and endlesse care tis to be honest!
To be a maide, what miserie, what mischiefe!
Would I were rid of it, so it were fairlie.

_Syl._ You need not feare that, will you be a childe still?
He followes you, but still to looke upon you;
Or if he did desire to lie with ye,
Tis but your owne desire, you love for that end;
Ile lay my life, if he were now abed w'ye,
He is so modest, he would fall a sleepe straight.

_Ang_. Dare you venter that? _Syl_. Let him consent, and have at ye;
I fe