lor_. I hope no daunger will succeede therein;
However, I resolve me to conceale it.--
My Lord, wilt please you now to change this habit,
And deck your selfe with ornaments more fit
For celebration of your marriage?

_Lass_. I, I, put on me what attire you will;
My discontent, that dwels within me still.

[_Exeunt_

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Haunce solus_.

_Hans_. Whom shall a man trust? a Painter? No: a servant? No:
a bed fellowe? No:
For, seeming for to see, it falls out right:
All day a Painter, and an Earle at night.

_Enter Doctor_.

_Doct_. Ho, _Zaccharee_, bid _Ursula_ brushe my two, tree fine Damaske
gowne; spread de rishe coverlet on de faire bed; vashe de fine plate;
smoake all de shambra vit de sweete perfume.

_Hans_. Heer's the Doctor: what a gaping his wisedom keepes i'the
streete! As if he could not have spoken all this within.

_Doct_. Ho, _Zaccharee_, if de grand patient come, you finde me signior
_Flores_.

_Hans_. By your leave, maister Doctor.

_Doct_. _Hans_, my very speciall friend; fait and trot, me be right
glad for see you veale.

_Hans_. What, do you make a Calfe of me, M. Doctor?

_Doct_. O no, pardona moy; I say vell, be glad for see you vell, in good
health.

_Hans_. O, but I am sick, M. Doctor; very exceeding sick, sir.

_Doct_. Sick? tella me, by garr; me cure you presently.

_Hans_. A dead palsey, M. Doctor, a dead palsey.

_Doct_. Veare? veare?

_Hans_. Heere, M. Doctor; I cannot feele, I cannot feele.

_Doct_. By garr, you be de brave, merry man; de fine proper man; de very
fine, brave, little, propta sweet Jack man; by garr, me loov'a you, me
honour you, me kisse'a your foote.

_Hans_. You shall not stoope so lowe, good M. Doctor; kisse higher if it
please you.

_Doct_. In my trot me honour you.

_Hans_. I, but you give me nothing, sir.

_Doct_. No? by garr, me giv'a de high commendation passe all de gold,
precious pearle in de vorld.

_Hans_. I, sir, passe by it, you meane so, sir. Well, I shall have your
good word, I see, M. Doctor.

_Doct_. I sayt.

_Hans_. But not a rag of money.

_Doct_. No, by my trot, no point money; me give de beggra de money, no
point de brave man.

_Hans_. Would I were not so brave in your mouth.--But I can tell you
newes, maister Doctor.

_Doct_. Vat be dat?

_Hans_. The young Prince hath drunke himselfe mad at my maisters to day.

_Doct_. By garr, drunke, I tinck.

_