_Boy._ You are not, for my knowledge, I'll be dumb For ever, rather than be such a traitor; Indeed I pity you, and bring no thoughts, But full of peace, call home your modest blood, Pale hath too long usurp'd upon your face; Think upon love agen, and the possession Of full blown joyes, now ready to salute you. _Ma._ These words undo me more than my own griefs. _Boy._ I see how fear would play the tyrant with you, But I'll remove suspition; have you in Your heart, an entertainment for his love To whom your Virgin faith made the first promise? _Ma._ If thou mean'st _Hartlove_, thou dost wound me still, I have no life without his memory, Nor with it any hope to keep it long: Thou seest I walk in darkness like a thief, That fears to see the world in his own shape, My very shadow frights me, 'tis a death To live thus, and not look day in the face, Away, I know thee not. _Boy._ You shall hereafter know, and thank me Lady, I'll bring you a discharge at my next visit, Of all your fears, be content, fair _Maria_, 'Tis worth your wonder. _Ma._ Impossible. _Boy._ Be wise and silent, Dress your self, you shall be what you wish. _Ma._ Do this, and be My better Angel. _Boy._ All your care's on me. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._ _Enter_ Lurch, _and Boy_. _Lur._ I must applaud thy diligence. _Boy._ It had been nothing To have left him in the Porch; I call'd his servants, With wonders they acknowledg'd him, I pretended It was some spice sure of the falling sickness, And that, 'twas charity to bring him home; They rubb'd and chaf'd him, ply'd him with Strong water, Still he was senseless, clamors could not wake him; I wish'd 'em then get him to bed, they did so, And almost smother'd him with ruggs and pillows; And 'cause they should have no cause to suspect me, I watch'd them till he wak'd. _Lur._ 'Twas excellent. _Boy._ When his time came to yawn, and stretch himself, I bid 'em not be hasty to discover How he was brought home; his eyes fully open With trembling he began to call his servants, And told 'em he had seen strange visions, That should convert him from his heathen courses; They wondred, and were silent, there he preach'd How sweet the air of a contented conscience Smelt in his nose now, ask'd 'em all forgiveness For their hard pasture since they liv'd with him; Bid 'em believe, and fetch out the cold Sur-loin; Pierce the strong beer, and let the neighbors joy in't: The conceal'd Muskadine should now lie open To every mouth; that he would give to th' poor, And mend their wages; that his doors should be Open to every miserable sutor. _Lur._ What said his servants then?