_Pen._ A Tithe-Pig has no fellow, if I fetch her, If she be Puritane, Plumb-porridge does it, And a fat loin of Veal, well sauc'd and roasted. _2 Gent._ We'll meet one night, and thou shalt have all these; O' that condition we may have the wenches A dainty rascal. _Pen._ When your stomachs serve ye, (For mine is ever ready) I'll supply ye. _1 Gent._ Farewel, and there's to fill thy paunch. _Pen._ Brave Gentleman. _2 Gent._ Hold sirrah, there. _Pen._ Any young wench i' th' Town, Sir. _3 Gent._ It shall go round. [_Exit Gent._ _Pen._ Most honorable Gentlemen, All these are Courtiers, but they are meer Coxcombs, And only for a wench, their purses open, Nor have they so much judgement left to chuse her; If e'r they call upon me, I'll so fit 'em, I have a pack of wry-mouth'd mackrel Ladies, Stink like a standing ditch, and those dear Damsels; But I forget my business, I thank ye Monsieurs, I have a thousand whimseys in my brain now. [_Exit._ _Scæna Tertia._ _Enter (to a Banquet) Dutchess_, Syenna, _Lords, Attendants_. _Dutch._ Your Grace shall now perceive how much we honor ye And in what dear regard we hold your friendship: Will you sit Sir, and grace this homely Banquet? _Sy._ Madam, to your poor friend, you are too magnificent. _Dutch._ To the Dukes health, and all the joyes I wish him, Let no man miss this cup: have we no Musick? _Sy._ Your noble favours still you heap upon me, But where's my virtuous Mistriss, such a Feast, And not her sparkling beauty here to bless it? Methinks it should not be, it shews not fully. _Dutch._ Young Ladies Sir; are long, and curious In putting on their trims, forget how day goes, And then 'tis their good morrow when they are ready: Go some and call her, and wait upon her hither, Tell her the Duke and I desire her company: I warrant ye, a hundred dressings now She has survey'd, this, and that fashion look'd on, For Ruffs and Gowns; cast this away, these Jewels Suited to these and these knots: o' my life Sir, She fears your curious eye will soon discover else: Why stand ye still, why gape ye on one another? Did I not bid ye go, and tell my Daughter? Are ye nailed here? nor stir? nor speak? who am I, And who are you? _1 Lord._ Pardon me, gracious Lady, The fear to tell you that you would not hear of Makes us all dumb, the Princess is gone, Madam. _Dutch._ Gone? whither gone? some wiser fellow answer me. _2 Lord._ We sought the Court all over, and believe Lady No news of where she is, nor how convey'd hence. _Dutch._ It cannot be, it must not be. _1 Lord._ 'Tis true, Madam, No room in all the Court, but we search'd through it, Her women found her want first, and they cry'd to us.