_Sor._ Go to your pleasures, let me alone with this, Hope shall not trouble ye, nor he three dayes. _Fred._ I shall be bound unto thee. _Enter_ Valerio, Camillo, Cleanthes, Menallo. _Sor._ I'le do it neatly too, no doubt shall catch me. _Fred._ Be gone, they are going to bed, I'le bid good night to 'em. _Sor._ And mark the man, you'l scarce know 'tis _Valerio_. [_Exit._ _Cam._ Chear up my noble Lord, the minute's come, You shall injoy the abstract of all sweetness, We did you wrong, you need no wine to warm ye, Desire shoots through your eyes like sudden wild-fires. _Val._ Beshrew me Lords, the wine has made me dull, I am I know not what. _Fred._ Good pleasure to ye, Good night and long too, as you find your appetite You may fall to. _Val._ I do beseech your grace, For which of all my loves and services Have I deserved this? _Fred._ I am not bound to answer ye. _Val._ Nor I bound to obey in unjust actions. _Fred._ Do as you please, you know the penalty, And as I have a soul it shall be executed; Nay look not pale, I am not used to fear Sir, If you respect your Lady, good night to ye. [_Exit._ _Val._ But for respect to her and to my duty, That reverent duty that I owe my Sovera[ig]n, Which anger has no power to snatch me from, The good night should be thine; good night for ever. The King is wanton Lords, he would needs know of me How many nick chases I would make to night. _Men._ My Lord, no doubt you'l prove a perfect gamester. _Val._ Faith no, I am unacquainted with the pleasure, Bungle a set I may: how my heart trembles, And beats my breast as it would break his way out! Good night my noble friends. _Cle._ Nay we must see you toward your bed my Lord. _Val._ Good faith it needs not, 'Tis late, and I shall trouble you. _Cam._ No, no, till the Bride come Sir. _Val._ I beseech you leave me, You will make me bashfull else, I am so foolish, Besides, I have some few devotions Lords, And he that can pray with such a book in's arms-- _Ca[m]._ We'l leave ye then, and a sweet night wait upon ye. _Men._ And a sweet issue of this sweet night crown ye. _Cle._ All nights and days be such till you grow old Sir. [_Exeunt Lords._