say Sir, once again.

_Bac_.

You may say what yo[u] please, Sir,
Would I might do so.

_Arb_.

I will, Sir, and say openly, this woman carries letters,
By my life I know she carries letters, this woman does it.

_Mar_.

Would _Bessus_ were here to take her aside and search her, He
would quickly tell you what she carried Sir.

_Arb_.

I have found it out, this woman carries letters.

_Mar_.

If this hold, 'twill be an ill world for Bawdes, Chamber-maids
and Post-boyes, I thank heaven I have none I but his letters
patents, things of his own enditing.

_Arb_.

Prince, this cunning cannot do't.

_Tigr_.

Doe, What Sir? I reach you not.

_Arb_.

It shall not serve your turn, Prince.

_Tigr_.

Serve my turn Sir?

_Arb_.

I Sir, it shall not serve your turn.

_Tigr_.

Be plainer, good Sir.

_Arb_.

This woman shall carry no more letters back to your
Love _Panthea_, by Heaven she shall not, I say she shall not.

_Mar_.

This would make a Saint swear like a souldier.

_Tigr_.

This beats me more, King, than the blowes you gave me.

_Arb_.

Take'em away both, and together let them prisoners be, strictly
and closely kept, or Sirra, your life shall answer it, and let
no body speak with'em hereafter.

_Tigr_.

Well, I am subject to you,
And must indure these passions:
This is the imprisonment I have look'd for always.
And the dearer place I would choose.

[_Exeunt_ Tigr. Spa. Bac.

_Mar_.

Sir, you have done well now.

_Arb_.

Dare you reprove it?

_Mar_.

No.

_Arb_.

You must be crossing me.

_Mar_.

I have no letters Sir to anger you,
But a dry sonnet of my Corporals
To an old Suttlers wife, and that I'll burn, Sir.
'Tis like to prove a fine age for the Ignorant.

_Arb_.

How darst thou so often forfeit thy life?
Thou know'st 'tis in my power to take it.

_Mar_.

Yes, and I know you wo'not, or if you doe, you'll miss it
quickly.

_Arb_.

Why?

_Mar_.

Who shall tell you of these childish follies
When I am dead? who shall put to his power
To draw those vertues out of a flood of humors,
When they are drown'd, and make'em shine again?
No, cut my head off:
Then you may talk, and be believed, and grow worse,
And have your too self-glorious temper rot
Into a deep sleep, and the Kingdom with you,
Till forraign swor