_Bon_. Why doe you inquire, good puff past? _Suc_. My blade Is of the _Bilbo_[116] mettle; at its splendor My foes does vanish. _Bon_. Ile try that presently;--feare nothing, ladyes. _Suc_. Death! now I thinke out, I did breake my blade this morning on foure that did waylay me: Ile goe fetch another, and then I am for you. _Crac_. Take myne, Captaine. _Suc_. Hold your peace, be wise: that fellow In the blew garment has a countenance Presages losse of limme if we encounter.-- Ile meet you presently. _Bon_. It shall not serve your turne yet: Ile not blunt My sword upon such stock fish. _Grimes_, bestow Thy timber on them. _Grimes_. Come, sir. [_beats them_. _Suc_. Take me without a weapon? this cudgell sure Is Crabb tree, it tasts so sourely. [_Exeunt_. _Bel_. Oh, my Deare _Bonvill_. _Bon_. Mistrisse, I sent an advocate to plead My guiltless cause: you, too[117] severe a Judge Forbad him audience; I am therefore come Once more to prove my innocence. _Cla_. Come, without Ceremony Forgive you her and she shall pardon you Most willingly. _Bon_. Can you have soe much mercy, You soe much goodnes? _Bel_. Noe soule long tir'd with famine, whom kind death Has new enfranchisd from the loathed flesh, With happier expedition enters heaven Then mine thy bosome, _Bonvill_. Let our loves, Like plants that by their cutting downe shoot up, Straiter and taller flourish: we are now Inseperable. _Cla_. Your good fates, though I Repine not at them, makes my unhappy fortunes Appeare farr more disastrous. _Bon_. Whats thy misfortune? _Bel_. Alas, my mother has crost her in her affection as she did us. _Bon_. She shall Crosse ours no more. _Belisia_, if youle Be ruld by me you shall away with me; None but you sister shall be privy to it, And sheele keepe Councell. _Bel_. Ile goe any whither To enjoy thy presence; theres no heaven without it. _Bon_. You shalbe advertisd where she remaines, And certifie us how your mother takes it: When we are married we shall live to thanke you. _Cla_. Will you leave me, then? _Bel_. Prethee, poore heart, lament not; we shall meet, And all these stormes blowe over. _Cla_. Your tempests past; mine now begins to rise But Ile allay its violence with my eyes. _Exeunt omnes_. _Actus Quartus_. SCENE 1. _Enter Magdalen, Timothy and Alexander_. _Ma_. Run, good sweet _Timothy_; search the barnes, the stab[les], while I looke in the Chambers. Should she be lost or come to any harme my lady will hang us all. Why dost not fly? _Tim_. Hey day, if her feet walke as fast as thy tongue, sh[e's] far enough ere this time. What a stir you make! Were you, as shee is, with your sweet heart, you would [be] pursud, would you? You would be hangd as soone. Al[as], good gentlewoman, heaven speed her! _Ma_. You will not goe then?