_Accut. Ha! how now man? see'st now any errors? Nay, this is nothing; he hath but showne A patterne of himself, what thou shalt finde In others; search through the Globe of earth, If there mongst twentie two thou doost find Honester then himself ile be buried straight. Now thinke what shame tis to be vilde, And how vilde to be drunk: look round! where? Nay looke up, beholde yon Christall pallace. There sits an ubiquitarie Judge From whom _arcana nulla abscondita_, That see's all and at pleasure punisheth; Thou canst not scape scot free, how cans't thou? Why, sencelesse man in that sinne will betray His father, brother, nay, himselfe;[312] feares not To commit the worst of evils, secure if Thunder-boults should drop from heaven, dreading Nor heaven, nor hell; indeede his best state Is worse then least, prised at highest rate. _Ser_. This critique is hoarsh [_sic_], unsaverie, and reproofeful; avoyd him. _Scil_. Hee speakes well, but I like not his dispraysing of drunkennes; tis Phisicke to me and it makes me to sleep like a horse with my nose in the manger. Come, sweet heart. _Hostis_. Signior, _Philautus_, I pray ye a word. [_Exit_. _Acut_. How now, whispering? s'foot if they should give our purpose another crosse point, where are we then? note, note. _Hostis_. Heere take the key, convey yourself into the Chamber, but in any case take heede my husband see you not. _Phy_. Feare not, Gentles, be thanks the guerden of your love till time give better abilitie. [_Exit_. _Acut_. Ha! nay s'foot, I must claw out another device, we must not part so, _Graccus_; prethee keepe the sceane, til I fetch more actors to fill it fuller. _Gra_. But prethee, let me partake. _Acut_. Not till I returne, pardon me. [_Exit_. _Hostis_. By my troth Gossip, I am halfe sick of a conceit. _Citty wife_. What, woman? passion of my heart, tell me your greefs. _Hostis_. I shall goe to court now, and attired like an old Darie woman, a Ruffe holland of eight groates, three inches deep of the olde cut, and a hat as far out of fashion as a close placket. _Cittie wife_. Why I hope your husband is able to maintain you better, are there not nights as well as daies? does he not sleepe sometimes? has he no pockets about him, cannot you search his breeches? anything you find in his breeches is your owne. _Hostis_. But may a woman doe that with safety? _Cittie wife_. I, and more, why should she not? why what is his is yours, what's yours your owne. _Hostis_. The best hope I have is; you knowe my Guest Mistris _Gettica_, she has pawnd her Jewels to me already, and this night I look for her Hood and her tyer, or if the worst chance, I know I can intreate her to weare my cloathes, and let me goe in her attire to Court. _Cittie wife_. Or if all faile, you may hire a good suit at a Jewes, or at a broakers; tis a common thing and speacially among the common sort. _Enter Host and Constable_.