_Fred._ Get ye in, I'le answer you anon Sir. _Peter._ By this hand I'le break your Posset pan. [_Exit._ _Land._ Then by this hood I'le lock the meat up. _Fred._ Now your grief, what is't? For I can ghesse-- _Land._ Ye may with shame enough, If there were shame amongst ye; nothing thought on, But how ye may abuse my house? not satisfi'd With bringing home your Bastards to undoe me, But you must drill your whores here too? my patience (Because I bear, and bear, and carry all, And as they say am willing to groan under) Must be your make-sport now. _Fred._ No more of these words, Nor no more murmurings Lady: for you know That I know something. I did suspect your anger, But turn it presently and handsomely, And bear your self discreetly to this woman, For such an one there is indeed. _Land._ 'Tis well son. _Fre._ Leaving your devils Matins, and your melancholies, Or we shall leave our lodgings. _Land._ You have much need To use these vagrant ways, and to much profit: Ye had that might content (At home within your selves too) right good Gentlemen, Wholsome, and ye said handsom: But you gallants, Beast that I was to believe ye-- _Fred._ Leave your suspicion: For as I live there's no such thing. _Land._ Mine honour; And 'twere not for mine honour. _Fred._ Come, your honour, Your house, and you too, if you dare believe me, Are well enough: sleek up your self, leave crying, For I must have ye entertain this Lady With all civility, she well deserves it, Together with all secresie: I dare trust ye, For I have found ye faithfull: when you know her, You will find your own fault: no more words, but do it. _Land._ You know you may command me. _Enter Don_ John. _John._ Worshipful Lady, How does thy velvet Scabbard? by this hand Thou lookst most amiably, now could I willingly, And 'twere not for abusing thy _Geneva_ print there, Venture my Body with thee. _Land._ You'll leave this Roguery When you come to my years. _John._ By this light Thou art not above fifteen yet, a meer Girl, Thou hast not half thy teeth: come-- _Fred._ Prithee _John_ Let her alone, she has been vex'd already; She'll grow stark mad, man. _John._ I would see her mad, An old mad woman-- _Fred._ Prithee be patient. _John._ Is like a Millers Mare, troubled with tooth-ach. She'll make the rarest faces. _Fred._ Go, and do it, And do not mind this fellow. _Land._ Well, _Don John_, There will be times again; when O good Mother, What's good for a Carnosity in the Bladder? O the green water, Mother. _John._ Doting take ye; Do ye remember that? _Fred._ She has paid ye now, Sir. _Land._ Clary, sweet mother, clary.