+Phil.+ Go fetch him quickly, to dine with these ladies. [_Exeunt +Nurses+._ So! I thought I should set them going. He! The devil, they have left the children behind them. This was a very cunning device of mine. Now am I in a pretty condition. Troth, a Very noble Anabaptist progeny! For the devil a one of these were ever Christen'd; for I have run so much upon Tick to the parsons for christening of Children, that now they all refuse to make Any bastards of mine a Christian Without ready money; so that I'll have This boy bred up a parson, that he may Christen himself and the rest of his sisters And brothers. What shall I do, when these infants, Begin to be hungry, and youl for th' teat? O, that a milk-woman wou'd come by now! Well, I must remove my flock from hence. Small Coal, small coal, will you buy any small coal? Pox on it. I could never light of any But fruitful whores. Small coal, small coal! [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: [73] [See Hazlitt's "Proverbs," 1869, 275.] [74] [Old copy, _what_.] ACT II. _Enter +Zoranzo+, as in prison._ +Zor.+ Sure, 'tis not kind of those great pow'rs above, To add these chains to me that am in love. As to my bed of straw, I am content, Since any bed from her is punishment. To lie on down of swans would be hard rest, Could I not make my pillow on her breast. O Amarissa, wert thou here with me, I would not sell these bonds for liberty. Ransoms that prisoners give to be set free, I'd give as much to lie in chains by thee. Here is her picture. O, thou too like shade, [_Pulls out her picture._ To look on it my eyes are half afraid, It so presents my joy and misery; Since 'tis the nothing of that all to me. The greatest pain to any lover's heart, Is to remember when they are apart; For thoughts of joys, when there's a bar betwixt, Are worse than poison with a cordial mix'd. _Enter +Amphelia+ and +Jailor+._ +Amph.+ Well said, jailor, here's for thy pains. Brave pris'ner, Perhaps this visit may appear but strange To you, till you have heard me speak--Know then, When you receiv'd the sentence of your death, you seem'd To meet it with so brave a soul, as if The sound had not displeas'd your ears. Thus did Your courage fill my eyes with wonder, and My heart with pity. Straight I resolv'd to give you all my helps To set you free, which now I offer to You.