[145] _i.e._, Go before. Old copy, _Far more._--_Pegge._ [146] [In the former edits, this line precedes the one before it, to the prejudice of the sense.] [147] [Old copy, _butcher's_.] [148] [Old copy, _orders bar_. Mr Collier's correction. He alludes, as Mr Collier suggests, to the religious order to which he pretends to belong.] ACT IV. _Enter +Abstemia+._ +Abs.+ Here, miserable, despis'd Abstemia, In Milan let thy misery take breath, Wearied with many sufferings. O Lorenzo! How far in love I am with my affliction, Because it calls thee father! Unto this house, Where gentlewomen lodge, I was directed; But I here discover Strange actions closely carried in this house. Great persons (but not good) here nightly revel In surfeits and in riots, yet so carried, That the next day the place appears a sanctuary Rather than sin's foul receptacle. These ways Have to me still been strangers; but, Lorenzo, Thou couldst not, though, believe it. O jealousy! [O] love's eclipse! Thou art, in thy disease, A wild mad patient, wondrous hard to please. _Enter +Timpania+ and +Morbo+._ +Mor.+ Yonder she walks, mumbling to herself. The Prince Antonio has blessed her with's observation; and ye win her but to him, your house bears the bell away. Accost her quaintly. +Tim.+ I warrant thee, Morbo; Madonna Timpania has effected wonders of more weight than a maidenhead. Have I ruined so many city-citadels to let in court-martialists; and shall this country-cottage hold out? I were more fit for a cart than a coach then, i' faith. How now, Millicent, how d'ye this morning? +Abs.+ Well, I do thank so good a landlady. +Tim.+ But hark you, Mill. Is the door close, Morbo? +Mor.+ As a usurer's conscience. Grace was coming in, till she saw the door shut upon her. +Tim.+ I'll set Grace about her business, and I come to her. Is here any work for Grace, with a wanion to her?[149] We shall have eavesdroppers, shall we? +Abs.+ Chastity guard me! how I tremble. +Tim.+ Come hither, Mistress Millicent. Fie, how you let your hair hang about your ears too! How do you like my house, Mill? +Abs.+ Well indeed, well. +Tim.+ Nay, I know a woman may rise here in one month, and she will herself. But truth's truth: I know you see something, as they say, and so forth. Did you see the gallant was here last till twelve? +Abs.+ Which of them mean you? Here was many. +Tim.+ Which? he in the white feather, that supped in the gallery: was't not white, Morbo? +Mor.+ As a lady's hand; by these five fingers. +Tim.+ White? No, no, 'twas a tawny, now I remember. +Mor.+ As a gipsy, by this hand: it looked white by candle-light, though. +Tim.+ That lusty springal,[150] Millicent, is no worse man Than the Duke of Milan's son.