_Mar._ Tush: be that my pains: You know not what Art I have those ways. _Ism._ Beshrow you, you have practis'd upon me, Well, speed me here, and you with your _Ismenia_. _Mar._ Go, the condition's drawn, ready dated, There wants but your hand to't. _Am._ Truely you have taken great pains, Sir. _Mar._ A friendly part, no more (sweet Beauty.) _Am._ They are happy, Sir, have such friends as you are. But do you know you have done well in this? How will his Allies receive it? she (though I say't) Is of no better bloud than I am. _Mar._ There I leave it, I'm at farthest that way. _Ism._ You shall extend your vows no larger now. My heart calls you mine own: and that's enough. Reason, I know, would have all yet conceal'd. I shall not leave you unsaluted long Either by Pen or Person. _Ant._ You may discourse With me, when you think y'are alone, I shall Be present with you. _Ism._ Come Cosin, will you walk? _Am._ Alas, I was ready long since: in conscience You would with better will yet stay behind. _Ism._ Oh Love, I never thought thou'dst been so blind. _Mar._ You'll answer this Sir. [_Exeunt._ _Ant._ If er't be spoke on: I purpose not to propound the question. _Enter_ Julio. _Jul._ 'Tis true, the poor knave said: some Ravisher, Some of Lusts Bloud-hounds have seiz'd upon her: The Girl is hurried, as the devil were with 'em And help'd their speed. _Mar._ It may be not so ill, Sir. A well-prepared Lover may do as much In hot bloud as this, and perform't hon[e]stly. _Jul._ What? steal away a Virgin 'gainst her will? _Mar._ It may be any mans case; despise nothing: And that's a thief of a good quality, Most commonly he brings his theft home again, Though with a little shame. _Jul._ There's a charge by't Fall'n upon me: _Paris_ (the Millers son) Her brother, dares not venture home again Till better tidings follow of his Sister. _Ant._ Y'are the more beholding to the mischance, Sir: Had I gone a Boot-haling, I should as soon Have stoll'n him as his Sister: Marry then, To render him back in the same plight he is May be costly: his flesh is not maintain'd with little. _Jul._ I think the poor knave will pine away, He cries all to be pittied yonder. _Mar._ Pray you Sir, let's go see him: I should laugh To see him cry, sure. _Jul._ Well, you are merry, Sir. _Antonio_, keep this charge; I have fears Move me to lay it on you: Pray forbear The ways of your enemies, the _Bellides_. I have reason for my Injunction, Sir. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Aminta (_as a Page with a Letter_.) _Ant._ To me, Sir? from whom? _Am._ A friend, I dare vow, Sir. Though on the enemies part: the Lady _Ismenia_.