_La Cas._ Let him alone; It is his glory that he can kill Beauty, Ye bear my Stamp, but not my Tenderness; Your wild unsavoury Courses set that in ye! For shame, be sorry, though ye cannot cure her, Shew something of a Man, of a fair Nature. _Mir._ Ye make me mad. _De-Gard._ Let me pronounce this to ye, You take a strange felicity in slighting And wronging Women, which my poor Sister feels now, Heavens hand be gentle on her: Mark me, Sir, That very hour she dies, there's small hope otherwise, That minute you and I must grapple for it, Either your life or mine. _Mir._ Be not so hot, Sir, I am not to be wrought on by these policies, In truth I am not; Nor do I fear the tricks, Or the high sounding threats of a _Savoyan_; I glory not in Cruelty, ye wrong me; Nor grow up water'd with the tears of Women; This let me tell ye, howsoe'r I shew to ye, Wild, as ye please to call it, or self-will'd; When I see cause I can both do and suffer, Freely, and feelingly, as a true Gentleman. _Enter_ Rosalure, _and_ Lilia. _Ros._ O pity, pity, thousand, thousand pities! _Lil._ Alas poor Soul! she will dye; she is grown sensless; She will not know, nor speak now. _Ros._ Dye for love! And love of such a Youth! I would dye for a Dog first, He that kills me I'll give him leave to eat me; I'll know men better ere I sigh for any of 'em. _Lil._ Ye have done a worthy act, Sir; a most famous; Ye have kill'd a Maid the wrong way, ye are a conqueror. _Ros._ A Conquerour? a Cobler; hang him Sowter; Go hide thy self for shame, go lose thy memory; Live not 'mongst Men; thou art a Beast, a Monster; A Blatant Beast. _Lil._ If ye have yet any honesty, Or ever heard of any; take my Counsel; Off with your Garters: and seek out a Bough, A handsom Bough; (for I would have ye hang like a Gentleman;) And write some doleful matter to the World, A Warning to hard hearted men. _Mir._ Out Kitlings: What Catterwauling's here? what Gibbing? Do you think my heart is softned with a black Santis? Shew me some reason. _Enter_ Oriana _on a Bed_. _Ros._ Here then, here is a reason. _Nant._ Now, if ye be a man, let this sight shake ye. _La-C._ Alas poor Gentlewoman! do you know me, Lady? _Lug._ How she looks up, and stares! _Ori._ I know ye very well; You are my Godfather; and that's the Monsieur. _De-Gar._ And who am I? _Ori._ You are _Amadis de Gaul_, Sir. Oh oh, my heart! were ye never in love, sweet Lady? And do you never dream of Flowers and Gardens? I dream of walking Fires; take heed, it comes now; Who's that? pray stand away; I have seen that face sure; How light my head is! _Ros._ Take some rest.