From whom, _Bacurius_? _Bac_. From the Princess, Sir. _Arb_. I knew I had seen her. _Mar_. His fit begins to take him now again, 'Tis a strange Feaver, and 'twill shake us all anon, I fear, Would he were well cur'd of this raging folly: Give me the warrs, where men are mad, and may talk what they list, and held the bravest fellows; This pelting prating peace is good for nothing: drinking's a vertue to't. _Arb_. I see there's truth in no man, nor obedience, But for his own ends, why did you let her in? _Bac_. It was your own command to barr none from him, Besides, the Princess sent her ring Sir, for my warrant. _Arb_. A token to _Tigranes_, did she not? Sir tell truth. _Bac_. I do not use to lie Sir, 'Tis no way I eat or live by, and I think, This is no token Sir. _Mar_. This combat has undone him: if he had been well beaten, he had been temperate; I shall never see him handsome again, till he have a Horse-mans staffe yok'd thorow his shoulders, or an arm broken with a bullet. _Arb_. I am trifled with. _Bac_. Sir? _Arb_. I know it, as I know thee to be false. _Mar_. Now the clap comes. _Bac_. You never knew me so, Sir I dare speak it, And durst a worse man tell me, though my better-- _Mar_. 'Tis well said, by my soul. _Arb_. Sirra, you answer as you had no life. _Bac_. That I fear Sir to lose nobly. _Arb_. I say Sir, once again. _Bac_. You may say what yo[u] please, Sir, Would I might do so. _Arb_. I will, Sir, and say openly, this woman carries letters, By my life I know she carries letters, this woman does it. _Mar_. Would _Bessus_ were here to take her aside and search her, He would quickly tell you what she carried Sir. _Arb_. I have found it out, this woman carries letters. _Mar_. If this hold, 'twill be an ill world for Bawdes, Chamber-maids and Post-boyes, I thank heaven I have none I but his letters patents, things of his own enditing. _Arb_. Prince, this cunning cannot do't. _Tigr_. Doe, What Sir? I reach you not. _Arb_. It shall not serve your turn, Prince. _Tigr_. Serve my turn Sir? _Arb_. I Sir, it shall not serve your turn. _Tigr_. Be plainer, good Sir. _Arb_. This woman shall carry no more letters back to your Love _Panthea_, by Heaven she shall not, I say she shall not. _Mar_. This would make a Saint swear like a souldier. _Tigr_. This beats me more, King, than the blowes you gave me. _Arb_. Take'em away both, and together let them prisoners be, strictly and closely kept, or Sirra, your life shall answer it, and let no body speak with'em hereafter. _Tigr_. Well, I am subject to you, And must indure these passions: This is the imprisonment I have look'd for always. And the dearer place I would choose. [_Exeunt_ Tigr. Spa. Bac. _Mar_. Sir, you have done well now. _Arb_. Dare you reprove it? _Mar_.