tions to you;
Young women, in the old world were not wont, Sir,
To hang out gaudy bushes for their beauties,
To talk themselves into young mens affections;
How cold and dull you are!

_Arn._ How I stagger!
She is wise, as fair; but 'tis a wicked wisdom;
I'le choak before I yield.

_Hip._ Who waits within there? [Zabulon _within._
Make ready the green Chamber.

_Zab._ It shall be Madam.

_Arn._ I am afraid she will injoy me indeed.

_Hip._ What Musick do ye love?

_Arn._ A modest tongue.

_Hip._ We'l have enough of that: fye, fye, how lumpish!
In a young Ladyes arms thus dull?

_Arn._ For Heaven sake
Profess a little goodness.

_Hip._ Of what Country?

_Arn._ I am of _Rome_.

_Hip._ Nay then I know you mock me,
The _Italians_ are not frighted with such bug-bears,
Prethee go in.

_Arn._ I am not well.

_Hip._ I'le make thee,
I'le kiss thee well.

_Arn._ I am not sick of that sore.

_Hip._ Upon my Conscience, I must ravish thee,
I shall be famous for the first example:
With this I'le tye ye first, then try your strength Sir.

_Arn._ My strength? away base woman, I abhor thee.
I am not caught with stales, disease dwell with thee. [_Exit._

_Hip._ Are ye so quick? and have I lost my wishes?
Hoe, _Zabulon_; my servants.

_Enter_ Zabulon _and_ Servants.

_Zab._ Call'd ye Madam?

_Hip._ Is all that beauty scorned, so many su'd for;
So many Princes? by a stranger too?
Must I endure this?

_Zab._ Where's the Gentleman?

_Hip._ Go presently, pursue the stranger, _Zabulon_.
He has broke from me, Jewels I have given him:
Charge him with theft: he has stoln my love, my freedome,
Draw him before the Governour, imprison him,
Why dost thou stay?

_Zab._ I'le teach him a new dance,
For playing fast and loose with such a Lady.
Come fellows, come: I'le execute your anger,
And to the full.

_Hip._ His scorn shall feel my vengeance.-- [_Exeunt._

_Scena Tertia._

_Enter_ Sulpicia _and_ Jaques.

_Sul._ Shall I never see a lusty man again?

_Ja._ Faith Mistress
You do so over-labour 'em when you have 'em,
And so dry-founder 'em, they cannot last.

_Sul._ Where's the _French_-man?

_Ja._ Alas, he's all to fitters,
and lyes, taking the height of his fortune with a Syringe.
He's chin'd, he's chin'd good man, he is a mourner.

_Sul._ What's become of the _Dane_?

_Ja._ Who? goldy-locks?
He's foul i'th' touch-hole; and recoils again,
The main Spring's weaken'd that holds