Why is she with you then? Can she waite on you better then your men, Has she a gift in plucking off your stockings, Can she make Cawdles well, or cut your Comes, Why doe you keepe her with you? For your Queene I know you doe contemne her, so should I And every Subject else thinke much at it. _Tig_. Let um thinke much, but tis more firme then earth Thou seest thy Queene there. _Lig_. Then have I made a faire hand, I cald her Whore, If I shall speake now as her Father, I cannot chuse But greatly rejoyce that she shall be a Queene: but if I should speake to you as a Statesman shee were more fit To be your Whore. _Tig_. Get you about your businesse to _Arbaces_, Now you talke idlie. _Lig_. Yes Sir, I will goe. And shall she be a Queene, she had more wit Then her old Father when she ranne away: Shall shee be a Queene, now by my troth tis fine, Ile dance out of all measure at her wedding: Shall I not Sir? _Tigr_. Yes marrie shalt thou. _Lig_. He make these witherd Kexes beare my bodie Two houres together above ground. _Tigr_. Nay, goe, my businesse requires haste. _Lig_. Good God preserve you, you are an excellent King. _Spa_. Farewell good Father. _Lig_. Farewell sweete vertuous Daughter; I never was so joyfull in my life, That I remember: shall shee be a Queene? Now I perceive a man may weepe for joy, I had thought they had lied that said so. _Exit_. _Tig_. Come my deare love. _Spa_. But you may see another May alter that againe. _Tigr_. Urge it no more; I have made up a new strong constancie, Not to be shooke with eyes; I know I have The passions of a man, but if I meete With any subject that shall hold my eyes More firmely then is fit; Ile thinke of thee, and runne away from it: let that suffice. _Exeunt_. _Enter Bacurius, and a servant_. _Bac_. Three gentlemen without to speake with me? _Ser_. Yes Sir. _Bac_. Let them come in. _Ser_. They are enterd Sir already. _Enter Bessus, and Swordmen_. _Bac_. Now fellowes, your busines, are these the Gentlemen. _Bess_. My Lord I have made bold to bring these Gentlemen my Friends ath' sword along with me. _Bac_. I am afraid youle fight then. _Bes_. My good Lord I will not, your Lordship is mistaken, Feare not Lord. _Bac_. Sir I am sorrie fort. _Bes_. I can aske no more in honor, Gentlemen you heare my Lord is sorrie. _Bac_. Not that I have beaten you, but beaten one that will be beaten: one whose dull bodie will require launcing: As surfeits doe the diet, spring and full. Now to your swordmen, what come they for good Captaine Stock-fish? _Bes_. It seemes your Lordship has forgot my name. _Bac_.