_Fred._ Only thus much I would desire your Grace, for my mind gives me Before night yet she is yours: stop all opinion, And let no anger out, till full cause call it, Then every mans own work's to justifie him, And this day let us give to search: my man here Tells me, by chance he saw out of a window (Which place he has taken notice of) such a face As our old Landladies, he believes the same too, And by her hood assures it: Let's first thither, For she being found, all's ended. _Duke._ Come, for Heavens sake, And Fortune, and thou be'st not ever turning, If there be one firm step in all thy reelings, Now settle it, and save my hopes: away friends. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _Enter_ Antonio _and his Servant_. _Ant._ With all my Jewels? _Ser._ All, Sir. _Ant._ And that mony I left i'th' trunk? _Ser._ The Trunk broke, and that gone too. _Ant._ _Francisco_ of the plot? _Ser._ Gone with the wench too. _Ant._ The mighty pox go with 'em: belike they thought I was no man of this world, and those trifles Would but disturb my conscience. _Ser._ Sure they thought, Sir, You would not live to persecute 'em. _Ant._ Whore and Fidler, Why, what a consort have they made! Hen and Bacon! Well my sweet Mistris, well good Madam mar-tail? You that have hung about my neck, and lick't me, I'le try how handsomely your Ladyship Can hang upon a Gallows, there's your Master-piece; But hark ye Sirrah, no imagination Of where they should be? _Ser._ None, Sir, yet we have search'd All places we suspected; I believe, Sir, They have taken towards the Ports. _Ant._ Get me a conjurer, One that can raise a water Devil, I'le port 'em; Play at duck and drake with my mony; take heed Fidler; I'le dance ye by this hand, your Fidle-stick I'le grease of a new fashion, for presuming To meddle with my degamboys: get me a Conjurer, Enquire me out a man that lets out Devils: None but my C. Cliffe serve your turn? _Ser._ I know not-- _Ant._ In every street, _Tom_ fool, any blear-ey'd people With red heads, and flat noses can perform it; Thou shalt know 'em by their half Gowns and no Breeches: Mount my Mare Fidler? ha boy! up at first dash? Sit sure, I'le clap a nettle, and a smart one, Shall make your Filly firk: I will fine Fidler, I'le put you to your plunge, Boy: Sirrah meet me Some two hours hence at home; in the mean time Find out a conjurer and know his price, How he will let his Devils by the day out, I'le have 'em, and they be above ground. [_Ex._ Ant.