_1 Sold._ I think _Petruchio_. _2 Sold._ What's the Word? _1 Sold._ None knows yet. _2 Sold._ I would this Lady were married out o'th'way once, Or out of our custodies; I wish they would take in more companies, For I am sure we feel her in our duties shrewdly. _1 Sold._ 'Tis not her fault I warrant ye, she is ready for't, And that's the plague, when they grow ripe for marriage They must be slipt like Hawkes. _2 Sold._ Give me a mean wench, No State doubt lies on her, she is alwayes ready. _1 Sold._ Come to the Guard, 'tis late, and sure the Captain Can not be long away. _2 Sold._ I have watch'd these three nights, To morrow they may keep me tame for nothing. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Tertia._ _Enter_ Silvio, Belvidere, _and_ Rodope _with a Light_. _Sil._ This is the place I think; what Light is that there? The Lady and my Cosin? _Bel._ Is this the Garden? _Rod._ Yes Madam. _Sil._ Oh my blessed Mistriss, Saint of my soul. _Bel._ Speak softly: take me to ye, Oh _Silvio_, I am thine, thine ever _Silvio_. _Rod._ Is this your promise, Sir? Lady your honor? I am undone if this be seen, disgrac'd, Fallen under all discredit. _Bel._ Do you love still? Dear, do you keep your old faith? _Sil._ Ever Lady; And when that fails me, all that's good forsake me. _Rod._ Do not you shame? Madam, I must not suffer this, I will not suffer it; men call you virtuous, What do you mean to lose your self thus; _Silvio_? I charge thee get away, I charge you retire ye, I'll call the Watch else. _Sil._ Call all the world to see us, We live in one anothers happiness, And so will die. _Bel._ Here will I hang for ever. _Rod._ As ye respect me, as hereafter Madam You would enjoy his love--nothing prevail with ye? I'll try my strength then; get thee gone thou villain, Thou Promise-breaker. _Sil._ I am tide, I cannot. _Rod._ I'll ring the Bell then. _Sil._ Ring it to death, I am fixt here. _Enter_ Bartello, _two Soldiers with lights_. _Bart._ I saw a Light over the Garden walk, Hard by the Ladies Chamber, here's some knavery As I live, I saw it twice. _Rod._ The Guard, the Guard there; I must not suffer this, it is too mischievous. _Bart._ Light up the Torch, I fear'd this, ha? young _Silvio_? How got he in? _1 Sold._ The Devil brought him in sure He came not by us. _Bart._ My wife between 'em busling? Guard, pull him off. _Rod._ Now, now, ye feel the misery. _Bart._ You, Madam, at an hour so far undecent? Death, O my soul! this is a foul fault in ye, Your mothers care abus'd too, Light's to her Chamber, I am sorry to see this. _Bell._ Farewel my _Silvio_, And let no danger sink thee. _Sil._ Nor death Lady. [_Exeunt_ Bell. Rod.