me your keys Sir
_Savil_.

_Savil._ Good Sir consider whom you left me to.

_Elder Lo._ I left you as a curb for, not to provoke my Brothers follies:
where's the best drink, now? come, tell me _Savil_; where's the soundest
Whores? Ye old he Goat, ye dried Ape, ye lame Stallion, must you be
leading in my house your Whores, like Fairies dance their night rounds,
without fear either of King or Constable, within my walls? Are all my
Hangings safe; my Sheep unfold yet? I hope my Plate is currant, I ha' too
much on't. What say you to 300 pounds in drink now?

_Sav._ Good Sir forgive me, and but hear me speak?

_Elder Lo._ Me thinks thou shouldst be drunk still, and not speak, 'tis
the more pardonable.

_Sav._ I will Sir, if you will have it so.

_Elder Lo._ I thank ye: yes, e'ne pursue it Sir: do you hear? get a Whore
soon for your recreation: go look out Captain _Broken-breech_ your fellow,
and Quarrel if you dare: I shall deliver these Keys to one shall have more
honesty, though not so much fine wit Sir. You may walk and gather
_Cresses_ fit to cool your Liver; there's something for you to begin a
Diet, you'l have the Pox else. Speed you well, Sir _Savil_: you may eat at
my house to preserve life; but keep no Fornication in the Stables.
[_Ex. om. pr._ Savil.

_Sav._ Now must I hang my self, my friends will look for't.
Eating and sleeping, I do despise you both now:
I will run mad first, and if that get not pitty,
I'le drown my self, to a most dismal ditty. [_Exit_ Savil.

_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Abigal _sola._

_Abigal._ Alas poor Gentlewoman, to what a misery hath Age brought thee:
to what a scurvy Fortune! Thou that hast been a Companion for Noblemen,
and at the worst of those times for Gentlemen: now like a broken
Servingman, must beg for favour to those, that would have crawl'd like
Pilgrims to my Chamber but for an Apparition of me. You that be coming on,
make much of fifteen, and so till five and twenty: use your time with
reverence, that your profits may arise: it will not tarry with you, _Ecce
signum_: here was a face, but time that like a surfeit eats our youth,
plague of his iron teeth, and draw 'em for't, has been a little bolder
here than welcome: and now to say the truth, I am fit for no man. Old men
i'th' house of fifty, call me Granum; and when they are drunk, e'ne then,
when _Jone_ and my Lady are all one, not one will do me reason. My little
Levite hath forsaken me, h