hands of _Hardenbergh_
Who will continually be pleading for me.

_Enter Doctor_.

_Doct_. Roome! a halle, a hall! be garr, vere is de Duke?

_Alp_. Heere, maister Doctor.

_Doct_. O we have grand important matter for tella your grace how de
know de cause for de wish cause your sonne is da madman.

_Enter Alberdure running_.

_Alb_. What? art thou heere? sweete _Clio_, come, be bright;
Take me thy Timbrell and Tobaccho pipe,
And give _Hyanthe_ musicke at her windowe.

_Doct_. Garrs blurr, my cap, my cap, cost me de deale a French crowne.

_Alb_. But I will crown thee with a cod of Muske,
Instead of Lawrell, and a Pomander[61]:
But thou must write _Acrostignues_ first, my girle.

_Doct_. Garzowne, what a pox do you stand heere for, de grand poltrone
pezant, and see de Doctor be dus?

_Alb_. Aye me, what _Demon_ was it guide me thus?
This is _Melpomene_, that Scottish witch[62],
Whom I will scratche like to some villanous gibb,
And--

_Doct_. O Garzowne, la diabole, la pestilence, gars blur!

_Alp_. Lay holde upon him, helpe the Doctor there!

_Alb_. Then reason's fled to animals, I see,
And I will vanish like Tobaccho smoake. _Exit_.

_Doct_. A grand pestilence a dis furie

_Alp_. Follow him, sirs, _Leander_, good _Leander_!
But, Doctor, canst thou tell us the true cause
Of this suddaine frenzie?

_Doct_. O by garr, pleaze your grace heare de long tale [or] de short
tale?

_Alp_. Briefe as you can, good Doctor.

_Doct_. Faite and trot, briefe den, very briefe, very laccingue. De
Prince, your sonne, feast with de knave Jeweller, _Flores_, and he for
make a Prince love a de foule croope-shouldra daughter _Cornelia_, give
a de prince a de love poudra which my selfe give for the wenche a before,
and make him starke madde be garr because he drinke a too much a.

_Alp_. How know you this?

_Doct_. Experience teach her, by garr; de poudra have grand force for
inflama de bloud, too much make a de rage and de present furie: be garr,
I feare de mad man as de devilla, garr blesse a.

_Enter Hardenbergh_.

_Alp_. How now, sweete _Hardenbergh_?

_Har_. The Prince, my Lord, in going downe the staires
Hath forst an Axe[63] from one of the Trevants (?),
And with it (as he runnes) makes such cleare way
As no man dare oppose him to his furie.

_Alp_. Aye me, what may I do? heere are such newes
As never could have entred our free ears
But that their sharpnesse do enforce a passage.
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