about his house
And cannot find us, for we may be sure
He will not seeke me in his sicke friends Chamber,
(I have at all times made his love so strange,)
He straight will thinke, I went away displeas'd,
Or hartely careles of his hardest suite.
And then I know there is no griefe on Earth
Will touch his hart so much; which I will suffer,
To quite his late good pleasure wrought on me,
For ile be sworne in motion, and progresse
Of his friends suite, I never in my life
Wrastled so much with passion or was mov'd
To take his firme love in such jelouse part.

_Hip_. This is most excellent, Madam, and will prove
A neecelike, and a noble friends Revenge.

_Eug_. Bould in a good cause; then lets greet his friend.--
Where is this sickely gentleman? at his booke?
Now in good truth I wood theis bookes were burnd
That rapp men from their friends before their time,
How does my uncles friend, no other name
I need give him, to whom I give my selfe.

_Cla_. O Madam let me rise that I may kneele,
And pay some duty to your soveraigne grace.

_Hip_. Good _Clarence_, doe not worke your selfe disease
My Lady comes to ease and comfort you.

_Pene_. And we are handmaides to her to that end.

_Cla_. Ladies, my hart will breake if it be held
Within the verge of this presumtuous chaire.

_Eug_. Why, _Clarence_ is your judgement bent to show
A common lovers passion? let the World,
That lives without a hart, and is but showe,
Stand on her empty, and impoisoned forme,
I knowe thy kindenesse and have seene thy hart
Clest [Cleft?] in my uncles free and friendly lippes,
And I am only now to speake and act
The rite's due to thy love: oh, I cood weepe
A bitter showre of teares for thy sicke state,
I cood give passion all her blackest rites
And make a thousand vowes to thy deserts.
But these are common, knowledge is the bond,
The seale, and crowne of our united mindes;
And that is rare and constant, and for that,
To my late written hand I give thee this.
See, heaven, the soule thou gau'st is in this hand.
This is the Knot of our eternitie,
Which fortune, death, nor hell, shall ever loose.

_Enter Bullaker, Iack, Wil_.

_Ia_. What an unmannerly tricke is this of thy Countesse to give the
noble count her uncle the slippe thus?

_Wil_. Vnmannerlie, you villaynes? O that I were worthy to weare a
Dagger to any purpose for thy sake?

_Bul_. Why young Gentlemen, utter your anger with your fists.

_Wil_. That cannot be, man, for all