+Abs.+ You have nobly Appeas'd the storm o'ertook you, and you are Again a good man. _Enter +Lorenzo+, +Pandulpho+, +Spinoso+, +Jaspor+, +Jovani+._ +Lor.+ Traitor to truth and friendship! Did not mine honour hold me, I should rip out That blushing hypocrite thy heart, that hath broke So strong a tie of faith: but behold How much of man is in me! there, I cast thee[126] From this believing heart to the iron hand Of law, the wrong'd man's saint? +Phil.+ What means this? +Pan.+ My lord, here's warrant For what's done, immediate from the duke; By force of which you're early i' th' morning Before his grace to answer to such injuries The Count Lorenzo shall allege against you. +Phil.+ Injuries! Why, friend, what injuries? +Lor.+ Can ye spell stag, sir? 'tis four letters with two horns. Good gentlemen, convey him from my fury, For fear of greater mischief. +Phil.+ Thou yellow fool! [_Exit._ +Abs.+ I would you would instruct me, noble sir, But how to understand all this. +Lor.+ Do ye see her? look on her, all, and wonder: Did ye ever see so foul guilt stand underneath A look so innocent? +Jov.+ I should have pawn'd My blood upon her honour. +Pan.+ Colours not in grain Make as fair show, but are more apt to stain. +Abs.+ My lord. +Lor.+ Ye whore! [_Kicks her. She swoons._ +Jas.+ Look to the lady. +Lor.+ Look to her! hang her: let me send her now To the devil, with all her sins upon her head. +Spin.+ Bear her in gently, and see her guarded. +Pan.+ You are too violent, my lord. +Lor.+ That men should ever marry! that we should lay our heads, And take our horns up out of women's laps! +Jov.+ Be patient, good sir. +Lor.+ Yes, and go make potguns. +Jas.+ 'Tis late, and sleep would do you good, my lord. +Lor.+ Sleep! why, do you think I am mad, sir? +Jas.+ Not I, my lord. +Lor.+ Then you do lie, my lord, For I am mad, horn-mad: I shall be acted In our theatres of Verona. O, what poison's Like a false friend, and what plague more ruinous Than a lascivious wife? they steal our joys, And fill us with affliction: they leave our names Hedg'd in with calumny: in their false hearts Crocodiles breed, who make grief their disguise, And, in betraying, tears 'stil through their eyes. O, he that can believe he sleeps secure In a false friend's oath, or in a bad wife's arms, Trusts Circe's witchcraft and Calypso's charms. +Omnes.+ 'Tis late; let's to the Court. [_Exeunt +Omnes+._ FOOTNOTES: