Only for charity, for meer I thank you, A little troubles me: the least touch for it, Had but my breeches got it, it had contented me The good old gentlewoman, at whose house we live; For fhe will fall upon me with a catechiẩm Of four hours long: I muft endure all; For I will know this mother: come, good wonder, But cannot bolt him: if he be a-bobbing, "Tis not my care can cure him; to-morrow morn ing I shall have further knowledge from a furgeon.---Where he lies moor'd to mend his leaks. Enter 1 Constantia. Con. I am ready, And through a world of dangers am flown to you; Be full of hafte and care, we are undone else: Where are your people? which way muft we travel? For heaven's fake stay not here, Sir. Fred. What may this prove? Con. Alas, I am mistaken, loft, undone, For ever perish'd: Sir, for heaven's fake tell me, Are you a gentleman ? Fred. I am. Con. Of this place? Fred. No, born in Spain. Con. As ever you lov'd honour, As ever your defires may gain their ends, Do a poor wretched woman but this benefit, Fred. Y've charm'd me, Huma Humanity and honour bids me help you; Con. The time's too dangerous To stay your protestations: I believe you, And why thus boldly I commit my credit Into a stranger's hand, the fears and dangers That force me to this wild courfe, at more leisure I shall reveal unto you. Fred. Come be hearty. He must ftrike through my life that takes You from me. SCENE [Exeunt. VIII. Enter Petruchio, Antonio, and two Gentlemen. Petr. He will fure come. Are ye all well arm'd? Ant. Never fear us: Here's that will make 'em dance without a fiddle. Petr. We are to look for no weak foes, my friends, Nor unadvised ones. Ant. Ant. The best gamefters make the best play, We shall fight clofe and home then. 1 Gent. Antonio, You are a thought too bloody. Ant. Why? all physicians And penny almanacks allow the opening Ant. I will speak truly; What should men do ally'd to these disgraces, Lick o'er his enemy, fit down, and dance him? 2 Gent. You are as far o'th' bow hand now. Ant. And cry, That my fine boy, thou wilt do so no more child. Petr. Here are no fuch cold pities. Ant. By St. Jaques, They fhall not find me one! here's old tough Andrew, A special friend of mine, if he but hold, I'll ftrike 'em fuch a horn-pipe: knocks I come for, And the best blood I light on; I profefs it, Not Not to fcare coftermongers; if I lose my own, Petr. Let's talk no longer, place yourselves with filence, As I directed ye; and when time calls us, Ant. So be it. SCENE IX. [Exeunt. Enter Don John and his Land-lady. Land. Nay, fon, if this be your regard. Land. Good me no goods, your coufin and yourself Are welcome to me, whilft you bear yourfelves John. I know you have. Land. Bring hither, as I fay, to make my name Stink in my neighbours noftrils, your devices, Your brats got out of Allicant, and broken oaths! Your linfey-wolfey work, your hafty-puddings! I fofter up your filch'd iniquities! |