_Alci._ Y'are a noble Gentleman, Wil't please you bring a friend? we are two of us, And pity either, Sir, should be unfurnish'd. _Clar._ I have none now, and the time is set so short, 'Twill not be possible. _Alci._ Do me the honour: I know you are so full of brave acquaintance, And worthy friends, you cannot want a partner: I would be loth to stand still, Sir; besides, You know the custom, and the vantage of it, If you come in alone. _Clar._ And I must meet it. _Alci._ Send, we'l defer an hour, let us be equal: Games won and lost on equal terms shew fairest. _Clar._ 'Tis to no purpose to send any whither, Unless men be at home by Revelation: So please you breath a while; when I have done with him, You may be exercis'd too: I'le trouble no man. _Enter_ Lisander. _Lisa._ They are very loud. Now what's the news? _Clar._ I must leave you, Leave you a while, two hours hence I'le return friend. _Lisa._ Why, what's the matter? _Clar._ A little business. _Lisa._ And't be but a little, you may take me with ye. _Clar._ 'Twill be a trouble to you. _Lisa._ No indeed, to do you service, I account a pleasure. _Clar._ I must alone. _Lisa._ Why? _Clar._ 'Tis necessity-- Before you pass the walks, and back again, I will be with ye. _Lisa._ If it be not unmannerly To press you, I would go. _Clar._ I'le tell you true, Sir, This Gentleman and I upon appointment, Are going to visit a Lady. _Lisa._ I am no _Capuchin_, why should not I go? _Alci._ Take the Gentleman, Come he may see the Gentlewoman too, And be most welcom, I do beseech you take him. _Lis._ By any means, I love to see a Gentlewoman, A prettie wench too. _Clar._ Well, Sir, we'll meet you, And at the place: My service to the Lady. _Alci._ I kiss your hand. [_Exit._ _Clar._ Prethee read o're her Letter. Lisander reads. Monsieur, _I Know you have considered the dark sentence_ Olinda _gave us, and that (however she disguis'd it) it pointed more at our swords edges than our bodies banishments; the last must injoy her: if we retire, our youths are lost in wandring; in emulation we shall grow old men, and feeble, which is the scorn of love, and rust of honour, and so return more fit to wed our Sepulchers, than the Saint we aim at; let us therefore make our journey short, and our hearts ready, and with our swords in our hands put it to fortune, which shall be worthy to receive that blessing, I'le stay you on the mountain, our old hunting place, this Gentleman alone runs_ _the hazard with me, and so I kiss your hand._ _Your Servant_ Lidian.