_Jul._ You will find him gainful, but be sure ye curb him, And get him, if ye can fairly, to his lodging, _Enter_ Alphonso. I am afraid ye will not. _Mast._ We must sweat then. _Alph._ What dost thou talk to me of noises? I'l have more noise, I'll have all loose, and all shall play their prizes; Thy Master has let loose the Boy I lookt for, Basely convey'd him hence. _Keep._ Will ye go out, Sir? _Alph._ I will not out; I will have all out with me, [_Shake Irons._ I'll have thy Master in; he's only mad here: And Rogues, I'll have ye all whipt; heigh, mad Boys, mad Boys. _Jul._ Do you perceive him now? _Mast._ 'Tis too apparent. _Jul._ I am glad she is gone; he raves thus. _Mast._ Do you hear, Sir? 'Pray will ye make less stir, and see your Chamber, Call in more help, and make the Closet ready. _Keep._ I thought he was mad; I'll have one long lash at ye. _Alph._ My Chamber? where my Chamber? why my Chamber? Where's the young Boy? _Mast._ Nay, Pray ye, Sir, be more modest For your own Credit sake; the people see ye, And I would use ye with the best. _Alph._ Best, hang ye, What dost thou think me mad? _Mast._ Pray, and be civil, Heaven may deliver ye. _Alph._ Into a rogues hands. _Mast._ You do but draw more misery upon ye, And add to your disease. _Alph._ Get from me. _Mast._ No Sir, You must not be left so: bear your self civilly, And 'twill be better for ye: swell not, nor chafe not. _Alp._ I am a Gentleman, and a neighbour, rascal. _Mast._ A great deal the more pity: I have heard of ye. _Jul._ Excellent Master. _Mast._ The Duke is very tender too. _Alph._ Am I lunatique? am I run mad? What dost thou talk to me of Dukes, and Devils, Why do the people gape so? _Mast._ Do not anger 'em, But go in quietly, and slip in softly They will so tew ye, else, I am commanded Sir. _Alph._ Why, prethee why? _Mast._ Ye are dog-mad: you perceive it not, Very far mad: and whips will scant recover ye. _Alph._ Ha! whips? _Mast._ I whips, and sore whips, and ye were a Lord Sir, If ye be stubborn here. _Alph._ Whips? what am I grown? _Jul._ O I could burst: hold, hold, hold, hold o' both ends, How he looks, pray heaven, he be not mad indeed. _Alph._ I do not perceive I am so; but if you think it, Nor I'le be hangd if 't be so. _Mast._ Do you see this Sir? [_Irons brought in._ Down with that Devil in ye. _Alph._ Indeed I am angry, But I'le contain my self: O I could burst now, And tear my self, but these rogues will torment me, Mad in mine old days? make mine own afflictions? _Mast._ What do you mutter Sir?