_Evan._ Good night dear Madam, Ladies, no further service, I am well, I do beseech your grace to give us this leave, My Lord and I to one another freely, And privately, may do all other Ceremonies, Women and Page we'l be to one another, And trouble you no farther. _Tony._ Art thou a wise man? _Val._ I cannot tell thee _Tony_, ask my neighbours. _Tony._ If thou beest so, go lye with me to night, The old fool will lye quieter than the young one, And give thee more sleep, thou wilt look to morrow else Worse than the prodigal fool the Ballad speaks of, That was squeez'd through a horn. _Val._ I shall take thy counsel. _Queen._ Why then good night, good night my best _Evanthe_, My worthy maid, and as that name shall vanish, A worthy wife, a long and happy; follow Sirrah. _Evan._ That shall be my care, Goodness rest with your Grace. _Queen._ Be lusty Lord, and take your Lady to ye, And that power that shall part ye be unhappy. _Val._ Sweet rest unto ye, to ye all sweet Ladies; _Tony_ good night. _Tony._ Shall not the fool stay with thee? _Queen._ Come away Sirrah. [_Exeunt Queen, Ladies._ _Tony._ How the fool is sought for! sweet Malt is made of easie fire, A hasty horse will quickly tire, a sudden leaper sticks i'th' mire, Phlebotomy and the word lye nigher, take heed of friend I thee require; This from an Almanack I stole, and learn[t] this Lesson from a fool. Good night my Bird. [_Exit_ Tony. _Evan._ Good night wise Master _Tony_; Will ye to bed my Lord? Come, let me help ye. _Val._ To bed _Evanthe_, art thou sleepy? _Evant._ No, I shall be worse if you look sad upon me, Pray ye let's to bed. _Val._ I am not well my love. _Evant._ I'le make ye well, there's no such Physick for ye As your warm Mistris arms. _Val._ Art thou so cunning? _Evant._ I speak not by experience, 'pray ye mistake not; But if you love me-- _Val._ I do love so dearly, So much above the base bent of desire, I know not how to answer thee. _Evant._ To bed then, There I shall better credit ye; fie my Lord, Will ye put a maid to't, to teach ye what to do? An innocent maid? Are ye so cold a Lover? In truth you make me blush, 'tis midnight too, And 'tis no stoln love, but authorised openly, No sin we covet, pray let me undress ye, You shall help me; prethee sweet _Valerio_; Be not so sad, the King will be more mercifull. _Val._ May not I love thy mind?