_Bar._ I must not, dare not see her. _Isab._ Nor my Husband, For twenty thousand pound. _Bar._ That I were a Cat now, Or any thing could run into a Bench-hole, Saint _Anthonies_ Fire upon the rogue has brought her; Where shall I be? just i'th' nick o'th' matter! When I had her at my mercy! think for heaven sake, My wife, all the wild furies hell has. _Pen._ Up the Chimney. _Bar._ They'll smoke me out there presently. _Isab._ There, there, it must be there, We are all undone else: it must be up the Chimney. _Bar._ Give me a Ladder. _Isab._ You must use your Art, Sir, Alas, we have no Ladders. _Bar._ Pox o'thy Husband, Does he never mend his house? _Pen._ No, nor himself neither: Up nimbly, Sir, up nimbly. _Bar._ Thou know'st I am fat, Thou merciless lean rogue. _Pen._ Will ye be kill'd? For if he take ye-- _Bar._ Lend me thy shoulder. _Pen._ Soft, Sir, You'll tread my shoulder-bones into my sides else, Have ye fast hold o'th' barrs? _Bar._ A vengeance barr 'em. _Isab._ Patience good Captain, Patience: quickly, quickly. _Bar._ Do you think I am made of smoke? _Pen._ Now he talks of smoke, What if my Master should call for fire? _Bar._ Will ye Martyr me? _Isab._ He must needs have it. _Bar._ Will ye make me Bacon? _Isab._ We'll do the best we can, are all things ready? _Pen._ All, all, I have 'em all. [_Isab._] Go let 'em in then, Not a word now on your life. _Bar._ I hang like a Meteor. _Enter_ Lopez _and_ Rhodope. _Lop._ You are welcome Lady. _Rho._ You are too too courteous, But I shall make amends, fair _Isabella_. _Isab._ Welcome my worthy friend, most kindly welcome. _Rho._ I hear on't, and I'll fit him for his foolery. _Lop._ Some Sweet meats wife: some Sweet meats presently. _Bart._ Oh my sowre sauce. _Lop._ Away quick _Isabella_. [_Exit_ Isab. Did you hear him? _Rho._ Yes, yes, perfectly, proceed, Sir. _Lop._ Speak loud enough: Dare ye at length but pity me? _Rho._ 'Faith Sir, you have us'd so many reasons to me, And those so powerfully-- _Lop._ Keep this kiss for me. _Bar._ And do I stand and hear this? _Rho._ This for me, Sir, This is some comfort now: Alas my Husband-- But why do I think of so poor a fellow, So wretched, so debauch'd? _Bar._ That's I, I am bound to hear it. _Rho._ I dare not lye with him, he is so rank a Whoremaster. _Lop._ And that's a dangerous point. _Rho._ Upon my conscience, Sir, He would stick a thousand base diseases on me. _Bar._ And now must I say nothing. _Lop._ I am sound Lady. _Rho._ That's it that makes me love ye. _Lop._ Let's kiss again then. _Rho._ Do, do. _Bar._ Do, the Devil And the grand Pox do with ye.