_Fred._ Are ye satisfied? _Land._ I'll never whore again, never give petticoats And Wastcoats at five pound apiece: good mother, Quickly mother; now mock on Son. _John._ A Devil grind your old Chaps. [_Exit Landlady._ _Fred._ By this hand, wench, I'll give thee a new hood for this. Has she met with your Lordship? _John._ Touch-wood take her. _Enter_ A[n]thony. She's a rare ghostly Mother. _Ant._ Below attends ye The Gentlemans man, Sir, that was with you. _John._ Well, Sir; My time is come then; yet if my project hold, You shall not stay behind; I'll rather trust _Enter_ Constantia. A Cat with sweet milk, _Frederick_; by her face, I feel her fears are working. _Const._ Is there no way, I do beseech ye think yet, to divert This certain danger? _Fred._ 'Tis impossible; Their Honours are engag'd. _Const._ Then there must be murther, Which, Gentlemen, I shall no sooner hear of, Than make one in't: you may if you please, Sir, Make all go less yet. _John._ Lady, were't mine own Cause, I could dispense; but loaden with my friends trust, I must go on; though general massacres As much I fear-- _Const._ Do ye hear, Sir; for Heavens pity Let me request one love of you. _Fred._ Yes, any thing. _Const._ This Gentleman I find too resolute, Too hot and fiery for the Cause; as ever You did a vertuous deed, for honours sake Go with him, and allay him; your fair temper And noble disposition, like wish'd showrs, May quench those eating fires, that would spoil all else. I see in him destruction. _Fred._ I will do it; And 'tis a wise consideration, To me a bounteous favour, hark ye, _John_; I will go with ye. _John._ No. _Fred._ Indeed I will, Ye go upon a hazard; no denial, For as I live, I'll go. _John._ Then make ye ready, For I am straight o' horse-back. _Fred._ My Sword on, I am as ready as you; what my best labour, With all the art I have can work upon 'em, Be sure of, and expect fair end; the old Gentlewoman Shall wait upon you; she is both grave and private, And ye may trust her in all points. _Const._ You are noble; And so I kiss your hand. _John._ That seal for me too, And I hope happy issue, Lady. _Const._ All Heavens Care upon ye, and my Prayers. _John._ So, Now my mind's at rest. _Fred._ Away, 'tis late, John. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _Enter_ Antonio, _a Surgeon, and 2 Gentlemen_. _1 Gent._ Come, Sir, be hearty, all the worst is past. _Ant._ Give me some Wine. _Sur._ 'Tis death, Sir. _Ant._ 'Tis a Horse, Sir. To be drest to the tune of Ale only! Nothing but sawces to my sores! _2 Gent._ Fie, _Antonio_, You must be govern'd.