_Clowne_. Easily I can, Syr. But for another peice of the same stampe, I can bringe you to heare him, to feele him, to smell, to tast him, and to feede upon him your whole fyve senses. _Thomas_. There's for thee, though I have no hope at all To finde in _France_ what I in _Florens_ seeke. And though my brother have no child alyve, As longe synce lost when I was rob'd of myne, Yet for the namesake, to my other travells I'l add this little toyle, though purposeles. I have about mee letters of Import Dyrected to a merchant of that name For whose sake (beeinge one to mee intyred) I only crave to see the gentleman. _Clowne_. Beleeve mee Syr I never love to jest, with those that beforehand deale with me in earnest. Will you follow mee? _Thomas_. Prooves hee my brother, and his dowghter found, Lost by my want of care, (which canott bee All reasons well considered) and I so happy To bringe him newes of a recovered state, Who to his foes so longe hathe been a prey, I'd count my monthes and years but from this day. [_Exeunt_. SCENE 2. _Enter at one door D'Averne, and Dennis with the Fryar armed. At the other Fryar Richard and the Baker_. _D'Averne_. So nowe all's fitt, the daylight's not yet broake; Mount him and lock him in the saddle fast, Then turn him forthe the gates. _Dennis_. Pray, Syr, your hand to rayse him. _D'Av_. Nowe lett him post, whether his fate shall guide him. [_Exeunt_. _Ent. Rich. and Baker_. _Baker_. The mare's ready. _Fr. R_. Only the key to ope the cloyster gate, Then all is as it shoold be. _Baker_. Tak't, there tis. But make hast, good Fryar _Richard_; you will else Have no new bredd to dinner. _Fr. R_. Feare not, baker; I'l proove her mettall. Thus I back one mare Least I shoold ryde another. [_Exit_. _Baker_. It is the kindest novyce of my consciens That ere woare hood or coole. [_A noyse within. Trampling of Horses_. What noyse is that? now by the Abbot's leave I will looke out and see. [_Clere_. _Enter Averne and Dennis_. _D'Av_. Howe nowe? the newes? The cause of that strange uprore? _Den_. Strange indeed, But what th'event will bee, I cannott guesse. _D'Av_. Howe is it, speake. _Den_. I had no sooner, as your Lordshipp badd, Putt him upon his voyadge, turn'd him out, But the ould resty stallion snuft and neighd, And smelt, I thinke, som mare, backt (I perceavd By the moone light) by a Fryar, in whose pursuite Our new made horseman with his threatninge lance, Pistolles, and rotten armor made such noyse That th'other, frighted, clamours throughe the streetes Nothinge but deathe and murder. _D'Av_. But the sequell?-- The clamour still increasethe. [_Noyse_. _Enter the Baker rooninge_. _Baker_. Oh never, never, Was seene such open mallyce! _Den_. What's the busines? _Baker_. Give mee but leave to breath--Oh especially in a cloyster!