After a stormy day. _Char._ Here comes the Lady. _Clod._ With fair _Zenocia_, Health with life again Restor'd unto her. _Zen._ The gift of her goodness. _Rut._ Let us embrace, I am of your order too, And though I once despair'd of women, now I find they relish much of Scorpions, For both have stings, and both can hurt, and cure too; But what have been your fortunes? _Arn._ Wee'l defer Our story, and at time more fit, relate it. Now all that reverence vertue, and in that _Zenocias_ constancy, and perfect love, Or for her sake _Arnoldo_, join with us In th' honour of this Lady. _Char._ She deserves it. _Hip._ _Hippolytas_ life shall make that good hereafter, Nor will I alone better my self but others: For these whose wants perhaps have made their actions Not altogether innocent, shall from me Be so supplied, that need shall not compel them, To any course of life, but what the law Shall give allowance to. _Zab._ _Sulpitia_, Your Ladiships creatures. _Rut._ Be so, and no more you man-huckster. _Hip._ And worthy _Leopold_, you that with such fervour, So long have sought me, and in that deserv'd me, Shall now find full reward for all your travels, Which you have made more dear by patient sufferance. And though my violent dotage did transport me, Beyond those bounds, my modesty should have kept in, Though my desires were loose, from unchast art Heaven knows I am free. _Leop._ The thought of that's dead to me; I gladly take your offer. _Rut._ Do so Sir, A piece of crackt gold ever will weigh down Silver that's whole. _Gov._ You shall be all my guests, I must not be denyed. _Arn._ Come my _Zenocia_. Our bark at length has found a quiet harbour; And the unspotted progress of our loves Ends not alone in safety, but reward, To instruct others, by our fair example; That though good purposes are long withstood, The hand of Heaven still guides such as are good. [_Ex. omnes._ * * * * * The Prologue. _So free this work is, Gentlemen, from offence, That we are confident, it needs no defence From us, or from the Poets--we dare look On any man, that brings his Table-book To write down, what again he may repeat At some great Table, to deserve his meat. Let such come swell'd with malice, to apply What is mirth here, there for an injurie. Nor Lord, nor Lady we have tax'd; nor State, Nor any private person, their poor hate Will be starved here, for envy shall not finde One touch that may be wrested to her minde. And yet despair not, Gentlemen, The play Is quick and witty; so the Poets say, And we believe them; the plot neat, and new, Fashion'd like those, that are approv'd by you. Only 'twill crave attention, in the most; Because one point unmarked, the whole is lost. Hear first then, and judge after, and be free, And as our cause is, let our censure be._ Epilogue.