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Kite. You shall not follow him now, I pray you, brother;-good faith, you shall not: I will overrule

you.

Down. Ha! scavenger! Well, go to, I say little; but, by this good day, (God forgive me I should swear) if I put it up so, say I am the rankest coward ever lived. 'Sdains, an' I swallow this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet Street again, while I live; I'll sit in a barn with Madge Howlet, and catch mice first. Scavenger!

Kite. O, do not fret yourself thus; never think

on't.

Down. These are my brother's consorts, these! these are his comrades, his walking mates! Let me not live, an' I could find in my heart to swinge the whole gang of them, one after another, and begin with him first. I am grieved it should be said he is my brother, and take these courses. Well, as he brews so he shall drink, for George. Yet he shall hear on't, and that rightly too, an' I live, i'faith.

Kite. But, brother, let your reprehensions then
Run in an easy current, not o'er high:
But rather use the soft persuading way,
More winning than enforcing the consent.

Down. Ay, ay, let me alone for that, I warrant you.
[Bell rings.
Kite. How now! O, the bell rings to breakfast.
Brother, I pray you, go in, and bear my wife
Company till I come; I'll but give order
For some despatch of business to my servant.
Down. I will-Scavenger! scavenger!

[Exit DOWNRIGHT. Kite. Well, tho' my troubled spirit's somewhat eas'd,

It's not repos'd in that security

As I could wish; but I must be content,
Howe'er I set a face on't to the world!

Would I had lost this finger, at a venture,
So Wellbred had ne'er lodg'd within my house.
Why 't cannot be, where there is such resort
Of wanton gallants, and young revellers,
That any woman should be honest long.
Well, to be plain, if I but thought the time
Had answer'd their affections, all the world
Should not persuade me but I were a cuckold!
Marry, I hope they have not got that start;
For opportunity hath baulk'd them yet,
And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears
To attend the impositions of my heart.

Enter DAME KITELY.

Dame. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the rosewater above in the closet.-Sweetheart, will you come in to breakfast?

Kite. An' she overheard me now !

Dame. I pray thee, good love, we stay for you. Kite. By Heav'n, I wou'd not for a thousand angels.

Dame. What ail you, sweetheart, are you not well? Speak, good Muss.

Kite. Troth, my head aches extremely, on a sudden. Dame. Oh, the lord!

Kite. How now! what!

Dame. Alas, how it burns! Love, keep you warm, good truth it is this new disease, there's a number are troubled withal! For love's sake, sweetheart, come nout of the air.

Kite. How simple, and how subtle are her answers! A new disease, and many troubled with it! Why, true! she heard me, all the world to nothing.

Dame. I pray thee, good sweetheart, come in; the air will do you harm, in troth.

Kite. I'll come to you presently; 'twill away, I hope,

Dame. Pray Heav'n it do.

[Exit DAME.

Kite. A new disease! I know not, new or old, But it may well be call'd poor mortals' plague : For, like a pestilence, it doth infect

The houses of the brain.

Till not a thought or motion in the mind,
Be free from the black poison of suspect.
Well, I will once more strive,

In spite of this black cloud, myself to be,
And shake the fever off, that thus shakes me.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Moorfields.

Enter BRAINWORM, disguised like a Soldier.

Brain. 'Slid, I cannot chuse but laugh, to see myself translated thus. Now must I create an intolerable sort of lies, or my present profession loses the grace; So much for my borrowed shape. Well, the truth is, my old master intends to follow my young, dry foot, over Moorfields to London this morning: now I, knowing of this hunting match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young master, have got me afore, in this disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscade, and intercept him in the midway. If I can but get his cloak, his purse, his hat, nay, any thing to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey-Veni, vidi, vici, I may say with Captain Cæsar; I am made for ever, l'faith. Well, now must I practise to get the true garb of one of those lance-knights, my arm here, and my-Young master, and his cousin, Mr. Stephen, as I am a true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier! [Retires.

Enter YOUNG KNO'WELL and MASTER Seephen.

Y. Kno. So, sir, and how then, coz ?

Step. 'Sfoot, I have lost my purse, I think.

Y. Kno. How! lost your purse? Where? When had you it?

go.

Step. I cannot tell: stay.

Y. Kno. What! ha' you it?

Step. No, I think I was bewitched, I

Y. Kno. Nay, do not weep the loss, hang it, let it

Step. Oh, it's here-No, an' it had been lost, I had not cared, but for a jet ring Mistress Mary sent me. Y. Kno. A jet ring! Oh, the posey, the posey!

Step. Fine, i'the faith!-Though fancy sleep, my love is deep. Meaning, that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.

Y. Kno. Most excellent!

Step. And then I sent her another, and my posey was: The deeper the sweeter, I'll be judg'd by St. Peter.

Y. Kno. How by St. Peter? I do not conceive that.

Step. Marry, St. Peter, to make up the metre.

Y. Kno. Well, there the saint was your good patron; he helped you at your need: thank him, thank him.

Brain. I cannot take leave of 'em so; Gentlemen, please you change a few crowns, for a very excellent good blade, here? I am a poor gentleman, a soldier, that, in the better state of my fortunes, scorned so mean a refuge, but now it is the humour of necessity to have it so. You seem to be gentlemen, well affected to martial men, else I should rather die with silence than live with shame: however, vouchsafe to remember, it is my want speaks, not myself. condition agrees not with my spirit.

Y. Kno. Where hast thou served?

This

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Brain. May it please you, sir, in all the late wars of Bohemia, Hungaria, Dalamatia, Poland; where not, sir? I have been a poor servitor by sea and land, any time this fourteen years, and followed the fortunes of the best commanders in Christendom. I was twice shot at the taking of Aleppo; once at the relief of Vienna. I have been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic gulf; a gentleman slave in the galleys thrice, where I was most dangerously shot in the head, through both thighs, and yet, being thus maimed, I am void of maintenance; nothing left me but my scars, the noted marks of my resolution.

Step. How will you sell this rapier, friend?

Brain. Generous sir, I refer it to your own judgment; you are a gentleman, give me what you please. Step. True, I am a gentleman, I know that, friend: I pray you say, what would you ask?

Brain. I assure you the blade may become the side or thigh of the best prince in Europe.

Y. Kno. Ay, with a velvet scabbard.

Step. Nay, and 't be mine, it shall have a velvet scabbard, coz, that's flat: I'd not wear it as it is, an' you would give me an angel.

Brain. At your worship's pleasure, sir; nay, 'tis a most pure Toledo.

Step. I had rather it were a Spaniard; but tell me, what I shall give you for it? An' it had a silver hilt

Y. Kno. Come, come, you shall not buy it; hold, there's a shilling, fellow, take thy rapier.

Step. Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so, and there's another shilling, fellow; I scorn to be outbidden. What, shall I walk with a cudgel, like a higginbottom, and may have a rapier for money? Y. Kno. You may buy one in the city.

Step. Tut, I'll buy this i'the field, so I will; I have a mind to't because 'tis a field rapier. Tell me your lowest price.

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