_Leon._ If that report speak truth, _Clarinda_ is Discharg'd her Ladies service, and what burthen I then have drawn upon me is apparent, The crop she reapt from her attendance was Her best Revenue, and my principal means _Clarinda_'_s_ bounty, though I labour'd hard for't, A younger Brother's fortune: must I now Have soure sawce after sweet meats? and be driv'n To leavie half a Crown a week, besides Clouts, Sope, and Candles, for my heir Apparent, If she prove, as she swears she is with child; Such as live this way, find like me, though wenching Hath a fair face, there's a Dragon in the tail of't That stings to th' quick. I must skulk here, until I am resolv'd: how my heart pants between My hopes and fears! she's come; are we in the Port? If not, let's sink together. _Enter_ Clarinda. _Clar._ Things go better Than you deserve; you carry things so openly, I must bear every way, I am once more In my Ladies grace. _Leon._ And I in yours. _Clar._ It may be; but I have sworn unto my Lady never To sin again. _Leon._ To be surpriz'd--the sin Is in it self excusable; to be taken Is a crime, as the Poet writes. _Clar._ You know my weakness, And that makes you so confident. You have got A fair sword; was it not _Lisanders_? _Leon._ Yes Wench, And I grown valiant by the wearing of it: It hath been the death of two. With this _Lisander_ Slew _Clor_[_id_]_on_, and _Chrysanthes_. I took it up, Broken in the handle, but that is reform'd, And now in my possession; the late Master Dares never come to challenge it: this sword, And all the weapons that I have, are ever Devoted to thy service: Shall we bill? I am very gamesome. _Clar._ I must first dispose of The fool _Malfort_; he hath smoak'd you, and is not, But by some new device to be kept from me: I have it here shall fit him: you know where You must expect me, with all possible silence Get thither. _Leon._ You will follow? _Clar._ Will I live? She that is forfeited to lust must dye, That humour being unfed; begone, here comes [_Exit_ Le. _Enter_ Malfort _in Armour._ My champion in Armour. _Malf._ What adventure I am bound upon I know not, but it is My Mistresses pleasure that I should appear thus. I may perhaps be terrible to others, But as I am, I am sure my shadow frights me, The clashing of my Armour in my ears, Sounds like a passing-bell; and my Buckler, puts me In mind of a Bier; this my broad Sword a pick-axe To dig my grave: O love, abominable love, What Monsters issue from thy dismal den, _Clarinda's_ placket, which I must encounter, Or never hope to enter? _Clar._ Here's a Knight errant, Monsieur _Malfort_. _Malf._ Stand, stand, or I'le fall for ye. _Clar._ Know ye not my voice?