_Die._ 'Faith for mine own part Not to give ill example to our issues, I could be well content to steal but two girths, And now and then a saddle-cloth: change a bridle Only for exercise. _Laz._ If we could stay there There were some hope on's Master: but the devil is We are drunk so early we mistake whole Saddles Sometimes a horse; and then it seems to us too Every poor jade has his whole peck, and tumbles Up to his ears in clean straw, and every bottle Shews at the least a dozen; when the truth is, Sir, There's no such matter, not a smell of Provinder, Not so much straw as would tie up a horse tail, Nor any thing i'th' rack, but two old Cobwebs And so much rotten Hay as had been a hens nest. _Die._ Well, these mistakings must be mended, _Lazaro_, These apparitions, that abuse our sences, And make us ever apt to sweep the manger But put in nothing; these fancies must be forgot And we must pray it may be reveal'd to us Whose horse we ought, in conscience, to couzen, And how, and when; A Parsons Horse may suffer A little greazing in his teeth, 'tis wholsome; And keeps him in a sober shuffle: and his Saddle May want a stirrop, and it may be sworn His Learning lay on one side, and so broke it: H'as ever Oats in's Cloak-bag to prevent us And therefore 'tis a meritorious office To tythe him soundly. _Laz._ And a Grazier may (For those are pinching puckfoysts, and suspitious) Suffer a myst before his eyes sometimes too, And think he sees his horse eat halfe a bushel: When the truth is, rubbing his gums with salt, Till all the skin come off: he shall but mumble Like an old Woman that were chewing Brawn, And drop 'em out again. _Die._ That may do well too, And no doubt 'tis but venial, But good _Lazaro_ Have you a care of understanding horses, [Horses with angry heels, gentlemens horses,] Horses that know the world: let them have meat Till their teeth ake; and rubbing till their ribs Shine like a wenches forehead; they are devils. _Laz._ And look into our dealings: as sure as we live These Courtiers horses are a kind of _Welsh_ Prophets, Nothing can be hid from 'em: For mine own part The next I cozen of that kind shall be founder'd, And of all four too: I'll no more such complements Upon my crupper. _Die._ Steal but a little longer Till I am lam'd too, and we'll repent together, It will not be above two daies. _Laz._ By that time I shall be well again, and all forgot Sir. _Die._ Why then I'll stay for thee. [_Exit._ _Scæna Secunda._ _Enter_ Theodosi[a] _and_ Phillipo _on several Beds._ _Theo._ Oh,--ho! oh--ho! _Phi._ Ha? _Theo._ Oh--oh! heart--heart--heart--heart? _Phil._ What's that? _Theo._ When wilt thou break?--break, break, break?