W. RASH. Why, what would you have me do? you mean to run away together: would you have me run with you, and so lose my inheritance? no, trudge, trudge with your backs to me, and your bellies to them. Away! GERA. Nay, I prythee, be not thus unseasonable: Without thee we are nothing. W. RASH. By my troth, and I think so too. You love one another in the way of matrimony, do you not? GERA. What else, man? W. RASH. What else, man? Why, 'tis a question to be asked; for I can assure you, there is another kind of love. But come, follow me; I must be your good angel still: 'tis in this brain how to prevent my father and his brace of beagles; you shall none of you be bid to-night: follow but my direction, if I bring you not, _To have and to hold, for better for worse_, let me be held an eunuch in wit, and one that was never father to a good jest. GERT. We'll be instructed by you. W. RASH. Well, if you be, it will be your own another day. Come, follow me. [SPENDALL _meets them, and they look strangely upon him, and go off_. SPEND. How ruthless men are to adversity! My acquaintance scarce will know me; when we meet, They cannot stay to talk, they must be gone, And shake me by the hand as if I burnt them. A man must trust unto himself, I see; For if he once but halt in his estate, Friendship will prove but broken crutches to him. Well, I will lean to none of them, but stand Free of myself: and if I had a spirit Daring to act what I am prompted to, I might thrust out into the world again, Full-blossom'd, with a sweet and golden spring. It was an argument of love in her To fetch me out of prison; and this night She clasp'd my hand in hers, as who should say, Thou art my purchase, and I hold thee thus. The worst is but repulse, if I attempt it. I am resolv'd: my genius whispers to me, Go on, and win her; thou art young and active, Which she is apt to catch at; for there's nought That's more unsteadfast than a woman's thought. [_Exit._ _Enter_ SIR LIONEL, WILL RASH, SCATTERGOOD, BUBBLE, WIDOW, GERTRUDE, JOYCE, PHILLIS, _and_ SERVANT. SIR LIONEL. Here's ill-lodging, widow; but you must know, If we had better, we'd afford it you. WID. The lodging, sir, might serve better guests. SIR LIONEL. Not better, widow, nor yet welcomer: But we will leave you to it and the rest. Phillis, pray let your mistress not want anything. Once more, good night; I'll leave a kiss with you, As earnest of a better gift to-morrow. Sirrah, a light. WID. Good rest to all. BUB. _Et tu quoque_, forsooth. SCAT. God give you good night, forsooth, And send you an early resurrection. WID. Good night to both. SIR LIONEL. Come, come away, each bird unto his nest; To-morrow night's a time of little rest. [_Exeunt. Manent_ WIDOW _and_ PHILLIS.