to counsel, and what may be done by man's wit or valour,
we'll put in Execution.

_Bri._ Do, or never hope I shall know thee. [Exeunt.

_Enter _Lewis.

_Lew._ O Sir, have I found you?

_Bri._ I never hid my self; whence flows this fury, with which, as it
appears, you come to fright me?

_Lew._ I smell a plot, meer conspiracy amongst ye all to defeat me of my
Daughter; and if she be not suddenly deliver'd, untainted in her
reputation too, the best of _France_ shall know how I am jugled with. She
is my Heir, and if she may be ravish'd thus from my care, farewel
Nobility; Honour and Blood are meer neglected nothings.

_Bri._ Nay then, my Lord, you go too far, and tax him, whose innocency
understands not what fear is. If your unconstant Daughter will not dwell
on certainties, must you thenceforth conclude that I am fickle? what have
I omitted, to make good my integrity and truth? nor can her lightness, nor
your supposition, cast an aspersion on me.

_Lew._ I am wounded in fact, nor can words cure it: do not trifle, but
speedily, once more I do repeat it, restore my Daughter as I brought her
hither, or you shall hear from me in such a kind, as you will blush to
answer.

_Bri._ All the world, I think, conspires to vex me, yet I will not torment
my self: some sprightful mirth must banish the rage and melancholy which
hath almost choak'd me; t' a knowing man 'tis Physick, and 'tis thought
on; one merry hour I'll have in spight of Fortune, to chear my heart, and
this is that appointed; this night I'll hug my _Lilly_ in mine arms,
provocatives are sent before to chear me, we old men need 'em,
and though we pay dear for our stoln pleasures, so it be done securely,
the charge much like a sharp sauce, gives 'em relish. Well, honest
_Andrew_, I gave you a Farm, and it shall have a Beacon, to give warning
to my other Tenants when the Foe approaches; and presently, you being
bestowed else-where, I'le graff it with dexterity on your forehead; indeed
I will, _Lilly_, I come, poor _Andrew_. [Exit.

ACTUS IV. SCENA II.

_Enter_ Miramont, Andrew.

_Mir._ Do they [chafe] roundly?

_And._ As they were rubb'd with Soap, Sir, and now they swear aloud, now
calm again; like a Ring of Bells, whose sound the wind still alters, and
then they sit in counsel what to do, and then they jar again what shall be
done; they talk of Warrants from the Parliament, Complaints to the King,
and Forces from the Province; they have a