SAMUEL

The same Same still: your friend sir. He never perceives they Longer then looking on. Why you may take a Maid. Only his eyes: and Oh my conscience They lie with half the kingdom. Oh the Gentleman, The young smug Signiour, Master Ʋ alentine, Brought out of travel with him, as J hear Is fallen sick o'th sudden, desperate sick, And likely they go thither. Ther's one can better satisfy you. Never look so narrowly, the mark's in her mouth still, Pray sir be temperate, You know your own state best. A learned question: Or grant the diaphragm by a rupture, The sign being then in the head of Capricorn. And we'll be gone all together. Be ruled though. Your mind is too mistrustful. Thou hast her. Not I. At your will sir. Exit Hyl. & Same. You must be courting wenches Through key-holes, Captain Hylas, come and be comforted, The skin is scarce broke. How do you sir? Here's a night indeed. Thou hadst as good be quiet, for of my conscience He'l put another on thee else. Thou art ever ready To thrust thy self into these she occasions, And he as full of knavery to accept it. That will not be amiss, but to fight with him Is to no purpose: beside, he's truly valiant, And a most deadly hand: thou never fightest yet, Not of my conscience hast no faith in fighting. To pay him with a project: Watch him too, I would wish you: prithee tell me, Dost thou affect these women still? Dost thou love any woman? Of any age too? And defect too? It's well sir, You make so worthy uses: but quid igitur, What shall we now determine? Let's find him first, he'l quickly give occasion, But take heed to your self, and say I warned you: He has a plaguy pate. WHere hast thou been man? What's the matter? Thou art not married? To whom prithee? I thought there was some such trick in't, you stole from me But who, for heaven sake? But who Hylas? Who, Monsieur Thomas? Oh now I smell you Hylas. Do's he know of it? Is there no trick in't? She's a brave wench. Take heed Hylas, Why there's the gentlewoman, How strange she bears it? By heaven, thou art abused still. Let me not live more if thou be'st not cozens, I told you. I told you what you had done. What do all these here? J still told you. Take her, and use her well, she's a brave gentlewoman. Most excellently argued. I have lost of purpose: now if I can With all the art I have, as she comes back, But win a parley for my broken pate, Off goes her maidenhead, and there's vindictam. They stir about the house, I'll stand at distance. Exit. B side the quarrel, Which has a woman in't, to make it scurvy, Who would lie stinking in a Surgeons hands A month or two this weather; for believe it, He never hurts under a quarters healing.