_Flor_. You are a sweet smell-feast,[57] Doctor; that I see. Ile [have] no such tub-hunters use my house. Therefore be gone, our marriage feast is dasht. _Doct_. Vat speake a me de feast? me spurne a, me kick a de feast; be garr, me tell a me do de grand grace, de favor for suppa, for dina, for eata with dee; be garrs blur, we have at home de restorative, de quintessence, de pure destill goulde, de Nector, de Ambrosia. _Zacharee_, make ready de fine partricke, depaste de grand _Otamon_. _Han_. _Zacharee_ is not heere, sir, but Ile do it for you. What is that _Otomon_, sir? _Doct_. O de grand Bayaret de Mahomet, de grand Turgur, be garr. _Ha_. O a Turkie, sir, you would have rosted, would you? Call you him an _Otoman_? _Doct_. Have de whole ayre of Fowle at commaund? _Flor_. You have the foole[58] at command, sir: you might have bestowed your selfe better. Wil't[59] please you walke, M. Doct. Dodypoll. [_Exeunt all but the Doctor_. _Doct_. How? Doddie poole? garrs blurr, Doctor Doddie, no point poole. You be paltrie Jacke knave, by garr: de doctor is nicast, de doctor is rage, de doctor is furie, be gar, the doctor is horrible, terrible furie. Vell, derre be a ting me tinke; be gars blur, me know, me be revenge me tella de Duke. Vell, me say no more: chok a de selfe, foule churle, fowle, horrible, terrible pigge, pye Cod. [_Exit_. [SCENE 2.] _Lea_. I wonder what varietie of sights Retaines your father and the prince so long With signior _Flores_? _Hya_. O signior _Flores_ is a man so ample In every complement of entertainement, That guests with him are, as in Bowers enchanted, Reft of all power and thoughts of their returne. _Enter the Duke and Hardenbergh_. _Lean_. Be silent, heere's the Duke. _Alp_. Aye me beholde Your sonne, Lord _Hardenbergh_, courting _Hyanthe_. _Har_. If he be courting tis for you, my liege. _Alph_. No, _Hardenbergh_; he loves my sonne too well --My faire _Hyanthie_, what discourse is it Wherewith _Leander_ holdes you this [thus?] attentive? Would I could thinke upon the like for you. _Hya_. You should but speake and passe the time, my lord. _Alp_. Passe-time that pleaseth you is the use of time: Had I the ordering of his winged wheele It onely should serve your desires and mine. What should it do if you did governe it. _Hya_. It should go backe againe and make you yong. _Alph_. Swounds, _Hardenbergh_. _Hard_. To her againe, my Lord. _Alp_. _Hyanthe_, wouldst thou love me, I would use thee So kindlie that nothing should take thee from me. _Hya_. But time would soone take you from me, my lord. _Alp_. Spight on my soule: why talke I more of time? Shee's too good for me at time, by heaven. _Har_. I, and place to (my Lord) I warrant her. _Omnes_. Stop, stop, stop! _Enter Alberdure mad; Motto and others following him_. _Mott_. O stay, my Lord. _Albe_. _Hyanthe, Hyanthe_, ô me, my love!