_Un_. I vow, Mistris Dorothy, if I were immodest twas the meere impudence of my sack and not my owne disposition; but if you please to accept my love now, by the way of Marriage, I will make you satisfaction like a gentleman in the point of honour. _Do_. Your birth and estate is to high and unequall for me, sir. _Un_. What care I for a portion or a face! She that has good eyes has good----Give me vertue. _Do_. You are pleas'd to make your mirth of me. _Un_. By this Rubie, nay you shall weare it in the broad eye of the world, dost thinke I am in Jeast. _Do_. Sir _Richard_-- _Un_. And were he ten Sir _Richards_, I am out of my wardship. _Do_.--How he flutters in the lime bush! it takes rarely. _Un_. What a necessary thing now were a household Chaplaine. [_Ext. [Dorothy & Underwit_. _Ri_. So, so, the wench inclines. I will hasten my journey that I may appear with more excuse when they are married in my absence. _Enter Captaine and Engine_. _Cap_. Sir, I heare you are for _London_ presentlie; It will concerne you take this gentleman Along w'ee to bee cur'd. _Ri_. Mr. _Engine_ sick! _Cap_. Oh, sir, Dangerously; he has purg'd his stomack, but the ill spiritts Are flowne into his head and spoild his eares. He was ever troubled with Devices in his head; I stronglie feare he must have his scull open'd, His brains are very foule within. I know And can direct you to an excle'nt Surgeon. _En_. I cannot heare you, Captaine-- _Cap_. One that has a rare dexteritie at lanceing Or opening of a stomack that has crudities; So neat at separation of a limbe And quartering of treason. _Ri_. You meane the hangman? _Cap_. He has practised late to mend his hand, and now With the very wind and flourish of his instrument He will strike flatt a projector at twelve score. _Ri_. Does he not heare you? _Cap_. He has lost that sence he saies, unless he counterfeits; It wilbe your securitie to see him Safe in the Surgeons hands. [_they whisper_. _En_.--Into what misery have my Projects flung me! They shanot know I understand 'em. That I were quitt with loss of both my eares, although I cut my haire like a Lay Elder, too, To shew the naked conyholes! I doe thinke What cursed Balletts will be made upon me And sung to divilish tunes at faire and Marketts To call in cutpurses. In a puppet play, Were but my storie written by some scholler, Twould put downe _hocas pocas_ and the tumblers And draw more audience than the Motion Of _Ninivie_[275] or the dainty docile horse[276] That snorts at _Spaine_ by an instinct of Nature. _Cap_. Ile leave him to you and seeke out Captaine _Underwit_. [_Exit_. _Ri_. Come, Master _Engine_, weele to horse imediately. [_Exeunt_. [SCENE 4.] _Enter Courtwell, Sister and Device_.