_En_. Is't not a rare designe? and by such art And reasons I can name, most beneficiall To the common wealth, preventing the diseases Which some unwholsome haire breeds in mens heads, It will be worth our agitation, Sir; And you, after the rate of every thousand Per Annum milk'd out of the comon purse Into your owne, may easily defaulke To me a hundred for my first projection. Did I not love you, Sir, I could make choice Of other able men that would be glad To multiplie their money. _Ri_. Sir, I thanke you, But have no mind to thrive upon abuse of My princes favour nor the peoples curse. Here is a gentleman, Sir _Francis Courtwell_, Perhapps will undertake it. _Fra_. What, Sir _Richard_? _Ri_. A Monopolie for composeing and selling of perriwiggs. _Fra_. Excuse me, Sir, I dare not deale in 'em. If I be not mistaken, Sir, your name Is _Engine_? _En_. Yes, Sir. _Fra_. The proiector generall? If I may advise you, Sir, you should make your will, Take some convenient phisick and dye tymely To save your credit, and an execution: It is thought else-- _En_. Oh-- _Fra_. What aile you, Sir? _En_. A Megrim in my head. _Ri_. Whoes there? _Enter Thomas_. Looke to Mr. _Engine_ heere, he faints, and send To your Ladie for some Cordiall waters presently. _Tho_. There is a Soveraigne Well hard by has done Strange cures: please you, ile throw him into that. _Ext. [Thomas; carrying away Engine_. _Ri_. Though I distast his busines I wod not He should miscarry here; you frighted him. But come, I thinke tis supper tyme, Sir _Francis_. I shall expect youle hunt with me i'th morning; I have a pack of Doggs sent me will make The Forrest ring. _Fra_. Ile cheerefully attend you, I love the sport; as earlie as you please, Sir. _Ri_. I wish wee had all pleasures to delight you, But no thing wants in my true love to serve you. _Fra_.--Yet I must cuckold him; I cannot helpe it. _Act the Third_. _Enter Thomas with Sir Richards bootes_. _Tho_. Sir. _Within Ri_. Whoes that? _Thomas_? _Tho_. The sun is up before you. Here be your bootes. _Ri_. That's well. _Within La_. I preethe donot rise yet; it is hardly day. Sirra, who bid you call him so earlie? Sir _Richard_ wonot rise yet. _Tho_. I cannot helpe it, it is none of my fault. _La_. Wheres _Doroty_? [_Enter Doroty_. _Do_. Here, Madam; what make you up so soone, _Thomas_? _Tho_. O Mistres _Dority_, tis e'ne long of you, for betweene sleepe and awake your remembrance came to me this morning, and _Thomas_ was up presently. _Enter Sir Richard [& Lady]_. _Ri_. You must excuse me, wife; I meane to kill a brace of hares before You thinke tis day. Come, on with my Bootes, _Thomas_; And _Dorothy_ goe you to Sir _Francis_ Chamber, Tell him the Day growes old and I am readie, Our horses and the merry hounds expect us. _La_. Any excuse to leave me.