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
Whofe e'er it is. Sure it had a wealthy mother,
For 'tis well cloath'd, and, if I be not cozen'd,
Well lin❜d within: to leave it here were barbarous,
And ten to one would kill it; a worse fin
Than his that got it: well, I will dispose on't,
And keep it, as they keep death's heads in rings,
To cry momento to me; no more peeping:
Now all the danger is, to qualify

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,
Let you and I be jogging: your starv'd treble
Will waken the rude watch elfe: all that be
Curious night-walkers, may they find my fee.

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,
For I am forc'd to truft ye.

Fred. Y've charm'd me,

Huma

Humanity and honour bids me help you;
And if I fail your truft---

Con. The time's too dangerous

To stay your protestations: I believe you,
Alas! I must believe you: from this place,
Good noble Sir, remove me inftantly.
And for a time, where nothing but yourself,
And honeft conversation may come near me,
In fome fecure place fettle me.
What I am,

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
Of veins this month: Why do ye talk of bloody?
What come we for? to fall to cuffs for apples!
What, would you make the caufe a cudgel quarrel?
Petr. Speak foftly, gentle cousin.

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,
My audit's loft, and farewel five and fifty.

Petr. Let's talk no longer, place yourselves

with filence,

As I directed ye; and when time calls us,
As ye are friends, fo fhew yourselves.

Ant. So be it.

SCENE IX.

[Exeunt.

Enter Don John and his Land-lady.

Land. Nay, fon, if this be your regard.
John. Good mother.

Land. Good me no goods, your coufin and yourself

Are welcome to me, whilft you bear yourfelves
Like honeft and true gentlemen: bring hither
To my houfe, that have ever been reputed
A gentlewoman of a decent and fair carriage,
And fo behaved myself!----

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!