_Rod._ It said true. I feel it sink into me forcibly: Sure 'tis a kind of _Sibyl_, some mad Prophet; I feel my wildness bound, and fetter'd in me. _Alin._ Give me your hand, and I'll tell you what's your fortune. _Rod._ Here, prithee speak. _Alin._ Fye, fye, fye, fye, fye. Wash your hands, and pare your nails, and look finely, You shall never kiss the Kings Daughter else. _Rod._ I wash 'em daily. _Alin._ But still you foul 'em faster. _Rod._ This goes nearer. _Alin._ You'll have two Wives. _Rod._ Two Wives? _Alin._ I, two fine Gentlewomen, Make much of 'em; for they'll stick close to you, Sir: And these two, in two days. _Rod._ That's a fine Riddle. _Alin._ To day you shall wed sorrow, And repentance will come to morrow. _Rod._ Sure she's inspired. _Alin._ I'll sing ye a fine Song, Sir, _He called down his merry men all,_ _By one, by two, by three,_ William _would fain have been the first,_ _But now the last is he_. _Rod._ This the meer Chronicle of my mishaps. _Alin._ I'll bid you good ev'n, for my Boat stays for me yonder, And I must sup with the Moon to Night in the _Mediterraneum_. [_Exit._ _Rod._ When fools and mad folks will be Tutors to me, And feel my sores, yet I unsensible; Sure it was set by Providence upon me To steer my heart right, I am wondrous weary, My thoughts too, which add more burthen to me; I have been ill, and (which is worse) pursu'd it, And still run on; I must think better, nobler, And be another thing, or not at all. _Enter four Pesants._ Still I grow heavier, heavier, Heaven defend me; I'll lye down, and take rest; and goodness guard me. _1 Pes._ We have 'scaped to day well; certain if the Out-laws Had known we had been stirring, we had paid for't. _2 Pes._ 'Plague on 'em, they have rob'd me thrice. _3 Pes._ And me five times: Beside they made my Daughter one of us too An arrant Drum: O, they are the lewdest Rascals, The Captain such a damn'd piece of iniquitie: But we are far enough off on 'em, that's the best on't, They cannot hear. _4._ They'le come to me familiarly And eat up all I have: drink up my wine too, And if there be a Servant that contents 'em, Let her keel hold, they'l give her Stowage enough: We have no Children now, but Thieves, and Outlaws. The very Brats in their Mothers bellies have their qualities. They'l steal into the world. _1._ Would we had some of 'em here. _2._ I, o' that condition we could Master 'em, They are sturdy knaves. _3._ A Devil take their sturdiness, We can neither keep our wives from 'em nor our States, We pay the Rent, and they possess the benefit. _1._ What's this lies here? is it drunk, or sober? It sleeps, and soundly too.