_Dutch._ Gone? stol'n away? I am abus'd, dishonour'd. _Sy._ 'Tis I that am abus'd, 'tis I dishonour'd. Is this your welcome, this your favour to me? To foist a trick upon me, this trick too, To cheat me of my love? Am I not worthy? Or since I was your guest, am I grown odious? _Dutch._ Your Grace mistakes me, as I have a life, Sir. _Sy._ And I another, I will never bear this, Never endure this dor. _Dutch._ But hear me patiently. _Sy._ Give me my Love. _Dutch._ As soon as care can find her, And all care shall be used. _Sy._ And all my care too, To be reveng'd; I smell the trick, 'tis too rank, Fie, how it smells o' th' Mother. _Dutch._ You wrong me, Duke. _Sy._ For this disgrace ten thousand _Florentines_ Shall pay their dearest bloods, and dying curse ye, And so I turn away, your mortal enemy. [_Exit._ _Duc._ Since ye are so high and hot Sir, ye have half arm'd us, Be careful of the Town, of all the Castles, And see supplies of Soldiers every where, And Musters for the Field when he invites us, For he shall know 'tis not high words can fright us. My Daughter gone? has she so finely cozen'd me? This is for _Silvio_'s sake sure, Oh cunning false one; Publish a Proclamation thorough the Dukedom. That whosoe'er can bring to th' Court young _Silvio_, Alive or dead, beside our thanks and favour, Shall have two thousand Duckets for his labour; See it dispatch'd, and sent in haste: Oh base one. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Quarta._ _Enter_ Isabella, _and_ Penurio _with a Light_. _Isab._ Was't thou with _Rugio_? _Pen._ Yes marry was I closely. _Isab._ And does he still remember his poor Mistriss? Does he desire to see me? _Pen._ Yes, and presently: Puts off all business else, lives in that memory, And will be here according to directions. _Isab._ But where's thy Master? _Pen._ Where a coxcomb should be, Waiting at Court with his Jewels, Safe for this night I warrant ye. _Isab._ I am bound to thee. _Pen._ I would ye were, as close as I could tye ye. _Isab._ Thou art my best, my truest friend. _Pen._ I labour I moil and toil for ye: I am your hackney. _Isab._ If ever I be able-- _Pen._ Steal the great Cheese Mistriss, Was sent him out o'th' Countrey. _Isab._ Any thing. _Pen._ That's meat, 'tis lawful Mistriss: where's the Castle Custard He got at Court? _Isab._ He has lock'd it in's study. _Pen._ Get a warrant to search for counterfeit Gold. _Isab._ Give me thy Candle, I'll find a time to be thy careful Cater. _Pen._ And many a time I'll find to be his Cook, And dress his Calves head to the sweetest sauce Mistriss. _Isab._ To bed _Penurio_, go, the rest is my charge, I'll keep the Watch out.