ble Revenge.
There is but one experiment left to prove my self so;
And if that fail, I'll e'en renounce my Country.
--Boy, harkye,--there is a certain kindness
You may do me, and get your pardon for being found here.

_Clo._ You shall command me any thing.

_Lor._ Prithee how long hast thou been set up for thy self, Hah?

_Clo._ As how, Sir?

_Lor._ Poh, thou understand'st me.

_Clo._ Indeed I do not, Sir; what is't you mean?

_Lor._ A smooth-fac'd Boy, and ask such a Question?
Fy, fy, this Ignorance was ill counterfeited
To me that understand the World.

_Clo._ Explain your self, Sir.

_Lor._ Lookye, ten or twenty Pistoles will do you
No hurt, will it?

_Clo._ Not any, Sir.

_Lor._ Why, so, 'tis well any thing will make thee
Apprehend.

_Clo._ I shall be glad to serve you, Sir, without that fee.

_Lor._ That's kindly said--
I see a Man must not be too easy of belief: had I been so,
This Boy would have been at, what d'ye mean, Sir?
And, Lord, I understand you not.
Well, _Philibert_, here's earnest to bind the Bargain;
I am now in haste; when I see thee next,
I'll tell thee more. [_Lorenzo_ whispers to _Laura_.

_Clo._ This 'tis to be a Favourite now;
I warrant you I must do him some good office to the Prince,
Which I'll be sure to do.

_Lor._ Nay, it must be done, for she has us'd me basely;
Oh, 'tis a Baggage.

_Lau._ Let me alone to revenge you on _Isabella_,
Get me but from this Imprisonment.

_Lor._ I will: whilst I hold the old Man in a dispute,
Do you two get away; but be sure thou pay'st her home.

_Lau._ I warrant you, Sir, this was happy;
Now shall I see _Curtius_.

_Lor._ _Philibert_, I advise you to have a care of
Wenching: 'twill spoil a good Face,
And mar your better market of the two. [Ex. _Lor._

_Lau._ Come, let us haste, and by the way, I'll tell thee
Of a means that may make us all happy.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Grove.

Enter _Alberto_ melancholy.

_Alb._ _Antonio_ said he would be here,
I'm impatient till he come--

Enter _Antonio_.

_Ant._ _Alberto_, I have such a Project for thee!

_Alb._ Hah-- [Gazes.

_Ant._ What ails thee, art thou well?

_Alb._ No.

_Ant._ Where art thou sick?

_Alb._ At Heart, _Antonio_, poison'd by thy Jealousy;
--Oh, thou hast ruin'd me, undone my Quiet,
And from a Man of reasonable Virtue,
Hast broug