_Arn._ My strength? away base woman, I abhor thee. I am not caught with stales, disease dwell with thee. [_Exit._ _Hip._ Are ye so quick? and have I lost my wishes? Hoe, _Zabulon_; my servants. _Enter_ Zabulon _and_ Servants. _Zab._ Call'd ye Madam? _Hip._ Is all that beauty scorned, so many su'd for; So many Princes? by a stranger too? Must I endure this? _Zab._ Where's the Gentleman? _Hip._ Go presently, pursue the stranger, _Zabulon_. He has broke from me, Jewels I have given him: Charge him with theft: he has stoln my love, my freedome, Draw him before the Governour, imprison him, Why dost thou stay? _Zab._ I'le teach him a new dance, For playing fast and loose with such a Lady. Come fellows, come: I'le execute your anger, And to the full. _Hip._ His scorn shall feel my vengeance.-- [_Exeunt._ _Scena Tertia._ _Enter_ Sulpicia _and_ Jaques. _Sul._ Shall I never see a lusty man again? _Ja._ Faith Mistress You do so over-labour 'em when you have 'em, And so dry-founder 'em, they cannot last. _Sul._ Where's the _French_-man? _Ja._ Alas, he's all to fitters, and lyes, taking the height of his fortune with a Syringe. He's chin'd, he's chin'd good man, he is a mourner. _Sul._ What's become of the _Dane_? _Ja._ Who? goldy-locks? He's foul i'th' touch-hole; and recoils again, The main Spring's weaken'd that holds up his cock, He lies at the sign of the _Sun_, to be new breech'd. _Sul._ The Rutter too, is gone. _Ja._ O that was a brave Rascal, He would labour like a Thrasher: but alas What thing can ever last? he has been ill mew'd, And drawn too soon; I have seen him in the Hospital. _Sul._ There was an _English_-man. _Ja._ I there was an _English_-man; You'l scant find any now, to make that name good: There were those _English_ that were men indeed, And would perform like men, but now they are vanisht: They are so taken up in their own Country, And so beaten of their speed by their own women, When they come here, they draw their legs like Hackneys: Drink, and their own devices have undone 'em. _Sul._ I must have one that's strong, no life in _Lisbon_ else, Perfect and young: my Custom with young Ladies, And high fed City dames, will fall, and break else. I want my self too, in mine age to nourish me: They are all sunk I mantain'd: now what's this business, What goodly fellow's that? _Enter_ Rutilio _and_ Officers. _Rut._ Why do you drag me? Pox o' your justice; let me loose. _1 Offi._ Not so Sir. _Rut._ Cannot a man fall into one of your drunken Cellars, And venture the breaking on's neck, your trap-doors open, But he must be us'd thus rascally? _1 Offi._ What made you wandring So late i'th' night? you know that is imprisonment. _Rut._ May be I walk in my sleep. _2 Offi._ May be we'l walk ye. What made you wandring Sir, into that vault Where all the City store, and the Munition lay?