_Phor._ You must not be thus froward; what, this gown Is one o'th' prettiest by my troth _Ardelia_, I ever saw yet; 'twas not to frown in Lady, Ye put this gown on when ye came. _Ard._ How do ye? Alas poor wretch how cold it is! _Luci._ Content ye; I am as well as may be, and as temperate, If ye will let me be so: where's my Lord? For there's the business that I came for Ladies. _Phor._ We'l lead ye to him, he's i'th' Gallery. _Ard._ We'l shew ye all the Court too. _Luci._ Shew me him, And ye have shew'd me all I come to look on. _Phor._ Come on, we'l be your guides, and as ye goe, We have some pretty tales to tell ye Lady, Shall make ye merry too; ye come not here, To be a sad _Lucina_. _Luci._ Would I might not.-- [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Chilax, _and_ Balbus. _Chil._ Now the soft Musick; _Balbus_ run-- _Bal._ I flye Boy-- [_Exit_ Balbus. _Chil._ The women by this time are worming of her,-- If she can hold out them, the Emperour [_Musick._ Takes her to task: he has her; hark the Musick. _Enter_ Emperour, _and_ Lucina. _Luci._ Good your Grace, Where are my women Sir? _Emp._ They are wise, beholding What you think scorn to look on, the Courts bravery: Would you have run away so slily Lady, And not have seen me? _Luci._ I beseech your Majestie, Consider what I am, and whose. _Emp._ I do so. _Luci._ Believe me, I shall never make a whore Sir. _Emp._ A friend ye may, and to that man that loves ye, More than you love your vertue. _Luci._ Sacred _Cæsar_. _Emp._ You shall not kneel to me sweet. _Luci._ Look upon me, And if ye be so cruel to abuse me, Think how the Gods will take it; does this beauty Afflict your soul? I'le hide it from you ever, Nay more, I will become so leprous, That ye shall curse me from ye: My dear Lord Has serv'd ye ever truly, fought your Battels, As if he daily long'd to dye for _Cæsar_, Was never Traytor Sir, nor never tainted In all the actions of his life. _Emp._ I know it. _Luci._ His fame and family have grown together, And spred together like to sailing Cedars, Over the _Roman_ Diadem; O let not, As ye have any flesh that's humane in you, The having of a modest wife decline him, Let not my vertue be the wedge to break him. I do not think ye are lascivious, These wanton men belye ye, you are _Cæsar_, Which is the Father of the Empires honour, Ye are too near the nature of the Gods, To wrong the weakest of all creatures, women.