night, Waltham—who, ho, ho, boy!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. The George Inn.

[Enter the Knights and Gentlemen from breakfast again.]

OLD MOUNTCHESNEY.
Nor I for thee, Clare, not of this.
What? hast thou fed me all this while with shalles.
And com'st to tell me now, thou lik'st it not?

CLARE.
I do not hold thy offer competent;
Nor do I like th' assurance of thy Land,
The title is so brangled with thy debts.

OLD MOUNTCHESNEY.
Too good for thee; and, knight, thou knowst it well,
I fawnd not on thee for thy goods, not I;
Twas thine own motion; that thy wife doth know.

LADY.
Husband, it was so; he lies not in that.

CLARE.
Hold thy chat, queane.

OLD MOUNTCHESNEY.
To which I hearkned willingly, and the rather,
Because I was persuaded it proceeded
From love thou bor'st to me and to my boy;
And gav'st him free access unto thy house,
Here he hath not behaved him to thy child,
But as befits a gentleman to do:
Nor is my poor distressed state so low,
That I'll shut up my doors, I warrant thee.

CLARE.
Let it suffice, Mountchensey, I mislike it;
Nor think thy son a match fit for my child.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
I tell thee, Clare, his blood is good and clear
As the best drop that panteth in thy veins:
But for this maid, thy fair and vertuous child,
She is no more disparaged by thy baseness
Then the most orient and the pretious jewell,
Which still retains his lustre and his beauty,
Although a slave were owner of the same.

CLARE.
She is the last is left me to bestow,
And her I mean to dedicate to God.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
You do, sir?

CLARE.
Sir, sir, I do, she is mine own.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
And pity she is so!
Damnation dog thee and thy wretched pelf!

[Aside.]

CLARE.
Not thou, Mountchensey, shalt bestow my child.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Neither shouldst thou bestow her where thou mean'st.

CLARE.
What wilt thou do?

MOUNTCHENSEY.
No matter, let that be;
I will do that, perhaps, shall anger thee:
Thou hast wrongd my love, and, by God's blessed Angell,
Thou shalt well know it.

CLARE.
Tut, brave not me.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Brave thee, base Churle! were't not for man-hood sake—
I say no more, but that there be some by
Whose blood is hotter then ours is,
Which being stird might make us both repent
This foolish meeting. But, Harry Clare,
Although thy father have abused my friendship,
Yet I love thee, I do, my noble boy,
I do, yfaith.

LADY.
Aye, do, do!
Fill the world with talk of us, man, man;
I never lookt for better at your hands.

FABELL.
I hop'd your great experience and your years
Would have proved patience rather to your soul,
Then with this frantique and untamed passion
To whet their skeens; and, but for that
I hope their friendships are too well confirmd,
And their minds temperd with more kindly heat,
Then for their froward parents soars
That they should break forth into publique brawles—
How ere the rough hand of th' untoward world
Hath moulded your proceedings in this matter,
Yet I am sure the first intent was love:
Then since the first spring was so sweet and warm,
Let it die gently; ne'er kill it with a scorn.

RAY.
O thou base world, how leprous is that soul
That is once lim'd in that polluted mud!
Oh, sir Arthur, you have startled his free active spirits
With a too sharp spur for his mind to bear.
Have patience, sir: the remedy to woe
Is to leave what of force we must forgo.

MILLISCENT.
And I must take a twelve months approbation,
That in mean time this sole and private life
At the years end may fashion me a wife:
But, sweet Mounchensey, ere this year be done,
Thou'st be a frier, if that I be a Nun.
And, father, ere young Jerningham's I'll be,
I will turn mad to spite both him and thee.

CLARE.
Wife, come, to horse, and huswife, make you ready;
For, if I live, I swear by this good light,
I'll see you lodged in Chesson house to night.

[Exeunt.]

MOUNTCHESNEY.
Raymond, away! Thou seest how matters fall.
Churle, hell consume thee, and thy pelf, and all!

FABELL.
Now, Master Clare, you see how matters fadge;
Your Milliscent must needs be made a Nune.
Well, sir, we are the men must ply this match:
Hold you your peace, and be a looker on,
And send her unto Chesson—where he will,
I'll send me fellows of a handful hie
Into the Cloysters where the Nuns frequent,
Shall make them skip like Does about the Dale,
And with the Lady prioress of the house
To play at leap-frog, naked in their smocks,
Until the merry wenches at their mass
Cry teehee weehee;
And tickling these mad lasses in their flanks,
They'll sprawl, and squeak, and pinch their fellow Nuns.
Be lively, boys, before the wench we lose,
I'll make the Abbas wear the Cannons hose.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. The same.

[Enter Harry Clare, Frank Jerningham, Peter Fabell, and
Milliscent.]

HARRY CLARE.
Spight now hath done her worst; sister, be patient.

JERNINGHAM.
Forewarned poor Raymonds company! O heaven!
When the composure of weak frailty meet
Upon this mart of durt, O, then weak love
Must in her own unhappiness be silent,
And winck on all deformities.

MILLISCENT.
Tis well:
Where's Raymond, brother? where's my dear Mounchensey?
Would we might weep together and then part;
Our sighing parle would much ease my heart.

FABELL.
Sweet beauty, fold your sorrows in the thought
Of future reconcilement: let your tears
Shew you a woman; but be no farther spent
Then from the eyes; for, sweet, experience says
That love is firm that's flattered with delays.

MILLISCENT.
Alas, sir, think you I shall ere be his?

FABELL.
As sure as parting smiles on future bliss.
Yond comes my friend: see, he hath doted
So long upon your beauty, that your want
Will with a pale retirement waste his blood;
For in true love Musicke doth sweetly dwell:
Severed, these less worlds bear within them hell.

[Enter Mounchensey.]

MOUNCHENSEY.
Harry and Francke, you are enjoined to wain
Your friendship from me; we must part: the breath
Of all advised corruption—pardon me!
Faith, I must say so;—you may think I love you;
I breath not, rougher spight do sever us;
We'll meet by stealth, sweet friend,—by stealth, you twain;
Kisses are sweetest got with struggling pain.

JERNINGHAM.
Our friendship dies not, Raymond.

MOUNCHENSEY.
Pardon me:
I am busied; I have lost my faculties,
And buried them in Milliscent's clear