_Fr. Jhon_. 'Tis her owne pen, I knwe it, synce shee sett Her hand to establishe our foundation, And, sweete soule, shee hath writt a second tyme To build mee upp anewe:--_My Lord is ridd A three dayes jorney, loose not this advantadge But take tyme by the fore-topp_. Yes I will By the fore-topp and topp-gallant. _At the posterne Shee to whose hand you gave your letter, Fryar, Attends for your despatch_:--my busines I hope shalbee despatcht then:--_Fare you well, Fayle mee this night and ever_. I'l sooner forfett All pleasures, hopes, preferments, with th'assurance Of a longe lyfe blest with most happy howers, Then this one night's contentment. _Mayde_. Ha, who's theire? Fryar _Jhon_? _Fr. Jhon_. The same: you, mystresse _Millisent_ My Ladye's gentlewoman? _Mayde_. I am the closett That treasures all her counsells. _Fr. Jhon_. Is all cleare? _Mayde_. As such a dark night can bee--to one, I feare, That scarce will looke on daye more. _Fr. Jhon_. Where's my lady? _Mayde_. Attends you in her chamber. _Fr. Jhon_. Guide mee too't, Nay, quickly guerle:--how I allredy surfett In this nights expectation! _Mayde_. Staye you heare In this withdraweinge roome, I'l fetch a light For safeguard of your shinnes. _Denis_. Shee might have sayde For safeguard of his necke. _Mayde_. My sceane's doone; The next act lyes amongst them. [_Exit_.[114] _Fr. Jhon_. My part dothe but beginne nowe and I'l act it In exquisite cleane linnen; and this capp Proffred of purpose, least I should smell fryar. What differ wee i'th darke, save our shaven crowne, From gentlemen, nay Lords? nature hath araied us As well as the best layemen: why should lawe Restreyne from us what is allowed to them? Lett it curbe fooles and idiots, such as throughe folly Will not, or nycenes dare not, tast what's sweete, Alyke made for all pallats. _Lord Av_. Howe the slave Insults in his damnation! cease the wretch, I can indure no lonnger. _Fr. Jhon_. Such as ban Proffred delights may, if they please, refuse; What's borne with mee I will make bold to use. _Lord Av_. And I what thou weart borne too, that's a halter. Pull without feare or mercy, strangle him With all his sinnes about him; t'were not else A revendge worthe my fury. [_Fry: strangled_. _Dennis_. I dare nowe Lodge him a whole night by my syster's syde, Hee's nowe past strompetting. _Lord Av_. Tis night with him, A longe and lastinge night. _Denis_. Hee lyes as quiet. You did well, Fryare, to putt on your cleane linnen; Twill serve you as a shrowde for a new grave. Whither shall wee lyft his body? _Lord Av_. I am on the suddeine Growne full of thoughts; the horror of the fact Breedes strange seditions in mee. _Denis_. Hee perhapps But counterfetts dead sleep. I'l hollowe to him To see if I can wake him.