will ye walk Sir,
For we presume you cannot pay the penalty.

_Rut._ Row in the Gallies, after all this mischief?

_2 Offi._ May be you were drunk, they'l keep you sober there.

_Rut._ Tug at an Oar? you are not arrant rascals,
To catch me in a pit-fall, and betray me?

_Sul._ A lusty minded man.

_Ja._ A wondrous able.

_Sul._ Pray Gentlemen, allow me but that liberty
To speak a few words with your prisoner,
And I shall thank you.

_1 Offi._ Take your pleasure Lady.

_Sul._ What would you give that woman should redeem ye,
Redeem ye from this slavery?

_Rut._ Besides my service
I would give her my whole self, I would be her vassal.

_Sul._ She has reason to expect as much, considering
The great sum she pays for't, yet take comfort,
What ye shall do to merit this, is easie,
And I will be the woman shall befriend ye,
'Tis but to entertain some handsome Ladies,
And young fair Gentlewomen: you guess the way:
But giving of your mind--

_Rut._ I am excellent at it:
You cannot pick out such another living.
I understand ye: is't not thus?

_Sul._ Ye have it.

_Rut._ Bring me a hundred of 'em: I'le dispatch 'em.
I will be none but yours: should another offer
Another way to redeem me, I should scorn it.
What women you shall please: I am monstrous lusty:
Not to be taken down: would you have Children?
I'le get you those as fast, and thick as flie-blows.

_Sul._ I admire him: wonder at him!

_Rut._ Hark ye Lady,
You may require sometimes--

_Sul._ I by my faith.

_Rut._ And you shall have it by my faith, and handsomly:
This old Cat will suck shrewdly: you have no Daughters?
I flye at all: now am I in my Kingdom.
Tug at an Oar? no, tug in a Feather-bed,
With good warm Caudles; hang your bread and water,
I'le make you young again, believe that Lady.
I will so frubbish you.

_Sul._ Come, follow Officers,
This Gentleman is free: I'le pay the Duckets.

_Rut._ And when you catch me in your City-powdring-tub
Again, boil me with Cabbidge.

_1 Offi._ You are both warn'd and arm'd Sir. [_Exeunt._

_Scena Quarta._

_Enter_ Leopold, Hippolyta, Zenocia.

_Zen._ Will your Ladyship wear this Dressing?

_Hip._ Leave thy prating:
I care not what I wear.

_Zen._ Yet 'tis my duty
To know your pleasure, and my worst affliction
To see you discontented.

_Hip._ Weeping too?
Prethee forgive me: I am much distemper'd,
And speak I know not what: to make thee amends
The Gown that I wore yesterda