_Alg._ Steal well to night, And thou shalt feed to morrow; so now you are Your selves again, I'll raise another watch To free you from suspition: set on any You meet with boldly: I'll not be far off, T'assist you, and protect you. [_Exit._ _Met._ O brave officer. _Enter_ Alvarez, Lucio, Bobadilla. _Pach._ Would every ward had one but so well given, And we would watch, for rug, in gowns of velvet. _Mend._ Stand close, a prize. _Met._ Satten, and gold Lace, Lads. _Alv._ Why do'st thou hang upon me? _Luc._ 'Tis so dark I dare not see my way: for heaven sake father Let us go home. _Bob._ No, ev'n here we'll leave you: Let's run away from him, my Lord. _Luc._ Oh 'las. _Alv._ Thou hast made me mad: and I will beat thee dead, Then bray thee in a morter, and new mold thee, But I will alter thee. _Bob._ 'Twil never be: He has been three days practising to drink, Yet still he sips like to a waiting woman, And looks as he were murdering of a fart Among wild Irish swaggerers. _Luc._ I have still Your good word, _Zancho_, father. _Alv._ Milk-sop, coward; No house of mine receives thee: I disclaim thee, Thy mother on her knees shall not entreat me Hereafter to acknowledge thee. _Luc._ Pray you speak for me. _Bo[b]._ I would; but now I cannot with mine honor. _Alv._ There's only one course left, that may redeem thee, Which is, to strike the next man that you meet, And if we chance to light upon a woman, Take her away, and use her like a man, Or I will cut thy hamstrings. _Pach._ This makes for us. _Alv._ What do'st thou do now? _Luc._ Sir, I am saying my prayers; For being to undertake what you would have me, I know I cannot live. _Enter_ Lamorall, Genevora, Anastro, _and Pages_ _with Lights_. _Lam._ Madam, I fear You'll wish you had us'd your coach: your brothers house Is yet far off. _Gen._ The better sir: this walk Will help digestion after your great supper, Of which I have fed largely. _Alv._ To your task, Or else you know what follows: _Luc._ I am dying: Now Lord have mercy on me: by your favor, Sir I must strike you. _Lam._ For what cause? _Luc._ I know not: And I must likewise talk with that young Lady, An hour in private. _Lam._ What you must, is doubtful, But I am certain Sir, I must beat you. _Luc._ Help, help. _Alv._ Not strike again? _Lam._ How, _Alvarez_? _An._ This for my Lord _Vitellis_ love. _Pach._ Break out, And like true theeves, make prey on either side, But seem to help the stranger. _Bob._ Oh my Lord, They have beat him on his knees.