_Piso._ Stay till I draw. _Jac._ Dispatch then, I am angry. _Piso._ And thou shalt see how suddenly I'll kill thee. _Jac._ Thou darst not draw, ye cold, tame, mangy Cowards, Ye drunken Rogues, can nothing make you valiant? Not wine, nor beating? _Lod._ If this may be suffer'd, 'Tis very well. _Jac._ Go there's your way, go and sleep: I have pity on you, you shall have the rest To morrow when we meet. _Piso._ Come _Lodowick_, He's monstrous drunk now, there's no talking with him. _Jac._ I am so; when I am sober, I'le do more Boy where's mine Host? [_Ex._ Lod. _and_ Piso. _Boy._ He's on his bed asleep Sir. [_Ex._ Boy. _Jac._ Let him alone then: now am I high proof For any action, now could I fight bravely, And charge into a wild fire; or I could love Any man living now, or any woman, Or indeed any creature that loves Sack Extreamly, monstrously; I am so loving, Just at this instant, that I might be brought I feel it, with a little labour, now to talk With a Justice of peace, that to my nature I hate next an ill Sword: I will do Some strange brave thing now, and I have it here: Pray Heaven the air keep out; I feel it buzzing. [_Exit._ SCENE III. _Enter_ Frederick, Frank, Clora. _Clora._ She loves him too much, that's the plain truth _Frederick_, For which if I might be believ'd, I think her A strange forgetter of her self; there's _Julio_, Or twenty more---- _Fred._ In your eye I believe you, But credit me the Captain is a man, Lay but his rough affections by, as worthy. _Clara._ So is a resty Jade a horse of service, If he would leave his nature; give me one By your leave Sir to make a husband of Not to be wean'd, when I should marry him; Me thinks a man is misery enough. _Fred._ You are too bitter, I would not have him worse. Yet I shall see you hamper'd one day Lady, I do not doubt it, for this heresie. _Clo._ I'le burn before; come pre'thee leave this sadness; This walking by thy self to see the Devil, This mumps, this Lachrymæ, this love in sippets; It fits thee like a French-hood. _Fra._ Does it so? I am sure it fits thee to be ever talking, And nothing to the purpose, take up quickly; Thy wit will founder of all four else wench, If thou hold'st this pace; take up when I bid thee. _Clora._ Before your Brother, fy? _Fred._ I can endure it. _Enter_ Jacomo. _Clo._ Here's Raw-head come again; Lord how he looks! Pray we 'scape with broken pates. _Fra._ Were I he, Thou should'st not want thy wish, he has been drinking, Has he not _Frederick_? _Fred._ Yes, but do not find it. _Clor._ Peace and let's hear his wisdom. _Fred._ You will mad him. _Jac._ I am somewhat bold, but that's all one.