_Mer._ Impossible to have redress on him, Chief servant to the Queen--ha! I have read Somewhere I am sure, of such an injury Done to a Lady: and how she durst dye. [_Exit._ _Ag._ Oh follow her _Beliza_. _Bel._ To assure her, The unlikelihood of this. [_Exit._ _Ag._ Love hides all sins. What's to be done _Leonidas_? _Leo._ Why this: Amazement takes up all my faculties; The plagues of gods and men will muster all To avenge this tyranny. Oh frontless man, To dare do ill, and hope to bear it thus: First let's implore, then cure. _Ag._ Who, who can trust The gentle looks and words of two-fac'd man? Like _Corinths_ double torrent, you and I Will rush upon the Land; nor shall the Queen Defend this Villain in his villany: Lusts violent flames can never be withstood Nor quench'd, but with as violent streams of blood. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima._ _Enter Crates, Uncle, Tutor, and Onos._ _Ono._ Thinks he to carry her and live. _Cra._ It seems so, And she will carry him the story says. _On._ Well, hum-- Have I for this thou fair but falsest fair Stretch'd this same simple leg over the Sea? What though my bashfulness, and tender years, Durst ne're reveal my affection to thy teeth? Deep love ne're tatles, and (say they) loves bit The deeper dip'd, the sweeter still is it. _Tut._ Oh, see the power of Love: he speaks in ryme. _Cra._ Oh, love would make a dog howle in ryme: Of all the Lovers yet I have heard or read This is the strangest: but his Guardian, And you his Tutor should inform him better, Thinks he, that love is answer'd by instinct? _Tut._ He should make means, For certain Sir, his bashfulness undo's him, For from his Cradle h'had a shameful face. Thus walks he night and day, eats not a bit, Nor sleeps one jot, but's grown so humerous; Drinks Ale, and takes Tobacco as you see; Wear's a Steeletto at his Codpeece close, Stabs on the least occasion: stroaks his beard, Which now he puts i'th posture of a _T._ The _Roman T._ your _T._ beard is the fashion, And twifold doth express the enamour'd Courtier, As full as your fork-carving Travellor. _On._ Oh, black clouds of discontent invellop me, Garters fly off: go Hatband, bind the browes Of some dull Citizen that fears to ake: And Leg appear now in simplicity Without the tra[pp]ings of a Courtier: Burst B[u]ttons, burst, your Bachelor is worm'd. _Cra._ A worm-eaten Batchelor th'rt indeed. _On._ And Devil melancholly possesses me now. _Unc._ Cross him not in this fit I advise you Sir. _On._ Dye crimson Rose, that didst adorn these cheeks, For ytch of love is now broke forth on me. _Unc._ Poor Boy, 'tis true: his wrists and hands are scabby.