_Bon_. Contempt repaid with scorne; tis my desert; Poyson soone murders a love wounded heart. [_Exit_. (SCENE 2.) _Enter Belisea, Clariana and Thorowgood_. _Bel_. You may declare your will[97] here are no eares But those I will not banish, were your busines More secret. _Tho_. Lady, I come to free My worthy freind and your owne servant, _Bonvill_, From an uniust suspition your conceite Retaines of him. Your mother did employ me In the unlucky message that pronouncd you Empty of honor. _Bel_. Has your worthles freind Hird you to sweare this? _Tho_. I'me none that live By selling oathes. _Bel_. Ile scarce believ't; he shall not With all his cunning policie regaine My good opinion of him. Sir, you cannot Doe a more pleasing office then to leave me: I do not love to heare of him. _Tho_. Your pleasure rules me. [_Exit_. _Cla_. _Belisea_, you did ill Not to heare out the Gent[leman]. _Bel_. Prethe why? His owne confession does appeach him one In the conspiracy against my honor. He sayes my mother was the originall Of _Bonviles_ slaunder; and how impious Twere for a child to thinke so, filiall duty Instructs my knowlidge. _Cla_. Be not confident; Your piety may misleade you. Though your mother, Shees passion like to us; we had it from her. Ile say no more; the event will testifie Whoes in the fault.[98] _Enter Sucket and Crackby_. _Suc_. Be not abashd; a little impudence is requisite; Observe me, with what a garbe and gesture martiall I will beseige their fortresses. _Bel_. Who sent these fooles to trouble us?--Gent[lemen], We have some conference will admit no audience Besides ourselves. We must desire you to withdraw, or give us Leave to do soe. _Suc_. Men of warr are not soe easily put to a retreat; it suites not with their repute. _Cla_. Heele fight with us, sister: weed best procure him bound toth peace. _Crac_. Ladies, I must no more endure repulse; I come to be a suiter. _Bel_. For what? _Crac_. Why, that you would with Judgment overlooke This lovely countenance. _Cla_. The hangman shall doe't sooner. _Crac_. If you knew How many bewtious gentlewomen have sued To have my picture-- _Cla_. To hang at their beds head for a _memento mori_-- _Crac_. You would regard it with more curiosity. There was a merchants daughter the other day Runn mad at sight of itt. _Cla_. It scared her from her witts: she thought the divell had haunted her. _Suc_. Valour deserves regard, myne shall propugne Your bewty gainst all opposers. _Bel_. Alasse! mine is so meane, None will contend with it, it needs no champions. _Crac_. Contemne me not, lady; I am-- _Cla_. A most egregious asse. _Crac_. Most nobly propagatted; my father was a man Well fu[rnish'd] with white and yellow mettall. _Cla_. I lay my life a Tinker. _Crac_. And in his parish of account. _Cla_. A Scavenger. _Bel_. Is it a badge of your profession To be uncivell?