+Boy.+ And have ye a mind to be unbound? +Phil.+ Yes, yes, we are in great torments To lie thus. +Boy.+ Then, sir, you shall give me a piece, And your hat, because I have never A one, or else farewell. +Phil.+ Well, stay, here take it out of my pockets. +Boy.+ Yes, that I will do, before I unbind you, And your hat too. [_Exit._ +Phil.+ The rogue's too nimble for me. +Mir.+ Well, Philidor, farewell, I must Go put On a clean handkerchief. +Phil.+ And I Must go see if I can find a believing Haberdasher, else I shall be very Ceremonious to every one I meet. [_Exit._ _Enter +Fiddler+._ +Mir.+ A fiddle! nay, then I am made again; I'd have a dance, if I had nothing but my Smock on. Fiddler, strike up, and play my jig, Call'd, _I care not a pin for any man._ +Fid.+ Indeed I can't stay: I am going to Play to some gentlemen. +Mir.+ Nay, thou shalt stay But a little. +Fid.+ Give me half-a-crown then. +Mir.+ I have no money about me. But here, take My handkerchief. [_Dance and Exit._ ACT IV. _Enter +Ortellus+ and +Arbatus+, as going into the +Duke's+ bed-chamber, and the +Duke+ in bed._ +Ort.+ So, I will keep the door, whilst you Dispatch him. +Arb.+ My lord, I find you truly noble. Why, duke; why, duke! I say. Methinks my voice should wake his guilty soul, Nothing but innocence can sleep secure; Then why, good heaven, does he take Such rest? Awake, thou drowsy devil! Duke, my sister's Wrongs do call thee from thy sleep; methinks The sound of those should pierce thy ears. Why, duke! +Duke.+ What bold voice is that? +Arb.+ One that will be more Bold with you. +Duke.+ Who is't so impudent as To break my sleep? +Arb.+ 'Tis I, Arbatus, that Will put thee into a wonder. +Duke.+ Ha! what means That dagger in thy hands? +Arb.+ Canst thou ask that Question? it is to tickle thy false heart. +Duke.+ Ha, ha, ha! you jest, you jest. +Arb.+ What, Does the conceit on't make you laugh already? I was resolved to wake thee, before I sent thee to hell, because thou may'st know Of whose errand thou goest. +Duke.+ Come, come, leave Your foolery, lest you heat my blood. +Arb.+ If I do, I will let it out all, and that Will quickly cool it. I would give thee time To say thy prayers now, but that I know Thy sin to be so great, that heaven will Not pardon thee. _Enter +Artabella+._ +Ort.+ Who's that? +Art.+ 'Tis I, my lord: Artabella. Let me in quickly, that I May have one stab at his false heart, before My brother has put him past feeling.