Fred. Firft tell me this, Did you not lately as you walk'd along, John. Yes marry, and they urg'd it, as far as they had spirit. Fred. Pray go forward. John. A gentleman I found engag'd amongst’em; It seems, of noble breeding, I'm sure brave mettle As I return'd to look you, I fet in to him, And without hurt (I thank heaven) refcu'd hin And now to fatisfy you, there is a woman, Fred. And one of no less worth, than I told And, which is most of all - home too John. Cor Fred. Y You ca John. Not wide open, But juft fo, as a jealous hufband Would level at his wanton wife through. If ye defire no more, and keep it strictly, I dare afford ye: come, 'tis now near morning. SCENE II. Enter Peter and Anthony. Pet. Nay, the old woman's gone too. [Exeunt. Amongst the gutters; but conceive ye, Peter. Pet. Where they should be, I do conceive, but where they are good Anthony--Ant. Ay, there it goes: my master's bo-peeps with me, With his fly popping in and out again, Argu'd a cause,---hark ! Pet. What? Ant. Doft not hear a lute ? .Again! Pet. Where is't? [Lute founds. Ant. Above, in my mafter's chamber. Pet. Pet. There's no creature: he hath the key himself, man. Ant. This is his lute: let him have it. [Sing within a little. Pet. I grant you; but who strikes it ? Ant. An admirable voice too, hark you.. Art fure we are at home? Ant. Without all doubt, Peter. Pet. Then this must be the devil. Good devil fing again: O dainty devil? Enter Frederick and Don John. Fred. If you would leave peeping. Fred. Then come in foftly; And as you love your faith, presume no farther Than ye have promised. John. Bafco. Fred. What make you up fo early, Sir? John. 'Tis your lute. She's playing on't, For this we have heard this half year. Fred. Ye faw nothing? Ant. Not I. Pet. Nor I, Sir. Fred. Get you our breakfast then, And make no words on't; we'll undertake this spirit, If it be one. Ant. This is no devil, Peter, Mum, there be bats abroad. [Exeunt ambo. Fred. Stay, now the fings. John. An angels voice I'll fwear. Either allay this heat; or as I live I will not trust you. John. Pafs; I warrant ye. Enter ft Conftantia. [Exeunt. Con. To curfe those stars that men say govern us, To rail at fortune, to fall out with fate, And tax the gen'ral world, will help me nothing: Alas! I am the fame ftill, neither are they Subject |