_Tho_. Alas, poore gentleman, something now agen is ready to strangle him; out with em,--hides, hides,--it was the hornes stuck in his gullett. _Within_. Oh-- _Tho_. Well straind; what a foule stomack he has! open your mouth, Mr. _Engine_. _Cap_. Throw downe a pottlepot. _Tho_. I have, sir, and it has come up full of medium wine; if you have any charity come and helpe me to hold his head; now agen! _Within_. Oh, oh, oh! _Un_. This is very strange, Captaine; the man is certainely enchanted. _Tho_. Master, master, tis _Shrovetuesday_[267] and the prentices are pulling downe _Covent Garden_; the Brickes come as whole out as if he had swallowed Cherristones. Hey! will you take Tobacco in the Roll? here is a whole shiplading of _Bermudas_ and one little twopenny paper of berrinas, with a superscription 'To my very loving friends the Custome-house.' _Cap_. Put up that for a relique, _Thomas_, and open it upon high dayes to clear the sore eyes of our _Spanish_ Marchants. _Thomas_, no more, but call the Drawer, an understanding Drawer and one that writes orthographie. [_Enter Drawer_. --Sirra, I charge you set a padlock upon that Chamber doore; there is a dangerous fellow must be brought to his purgation. And looke all the goods that he hath vomitted be forthcomeing, while we discreetly goe and enforme the Magistrates.--At your perill, sirra, at your perill seale up the Doore; and do you pay the reckoninge. _Un_. Sir _Richard_ is a Justice. There's your money, and yet wee need not pay; the gentleman hath left enough for the Reckoning in the next Roome. _Un_. I ha made him fast, you are very welcome, gentlemen. All's paid in the Percullis. [_Exeunt_. [SCENE 3.] _Enter Courtwell and Sister_. _Sis_. Ile walke no further; if you have a secret To impart, you need not feare this place; the trees And hedges will not listen. What's the business? I hope your phlegmatick stock of verse is spent. _Cou_. Why then in prose, the worst that I can speake in, I doe not love you, Lady. _Sis_. How? you ha not Traind me thus farr to tell me that? _Cou_. You are Of all your sex the poorest emptiest trifle, And one with whome tis most impossible I ere should change Affection; theres nothing To invite me too't, not so much as that Wee call a seeming reason, upon which All Love is built, seeming, I say, not it, My understanding Ladie. _Sis_. You thinke I am very dull that you expound Your witt thus, but it needes no Comentator, Not by the Author, tis so very plaine; But to despise me most of all the sexe Is something oversaid. Though I affect No flattery, I hate uncivill Language. You do not meane to quarrell, now you have Betraid me to the feilds, and beat me, Sir? _Cou_. What is there in your face more to attract mee Then that Red Cowes complexion? Why the Divell Do you thinke I should dote upon your person? That thing when she is stroak'd gives milke.