_Hida._ If it be jest, not to esteem my life, Compar'd with thee: If it be jest in me, To hang a thousand kisses in an hour Upon those Lips, and take 'em off again: If it be jest for me to marry thee, And take obedience on me whilst I live: Then all I say is jest: For every part of this, I swear by those That see my thoughts, I am resolv'd to do, And I beseech thee, by thine own white hand, (Which pardon me, that I am bold to kiss With so unworthy Lips) that thou wilt swear To marry me, as I do here to thee, Before the face of heaven. _Zoy._ Marry you? ha, ha, ha. _Hida._ Kill me or grant, wilt thou not speak at all? _Zoy._ Why I will do your Will for ever. _Hida._ I ask no more: but let me kiss that mouth That is so merciful; that is my will: Next go with me before the King in haste, That is my Will; where I will make our Peers Know, that thou art their better. _Zoy._ Ha, ha, ha, that is fine, ha, ha, ha. _Cleo._ Madam, what means your Grace? Consider for the love of Heaven to what You run madly; will you take this Viper Into your bed? _Hida._ Away, hold off thy hands: Strike her sweet _Zoylous_, for it is my Will, Which thou hast sworn to doe. _Zoy._ Away for shame. Know you no manners: ha, ha, ha. [_Exit._ _Cleo._ Thou know'st none I fear, This is just _Cupid_'s Anger, _Venus_ look down mildly on us: And command thy Son to spare this Lady once, and let me be in love with [all]: and none in love with me. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Ismenus, _and_ Timantus. _Timan._ Is your Lordship for the Wars this Summer? _Ismen. Timantus_, wilt thou go with me? _Timan._ If I had a Company, my Lord. _Ismen._ Of Fidlers: Thou a company? No, no, keep thy Company at home, and cause cuckolds: The Wars will hurt thy face, there's no Semsters, Shoomakers, nor Taylors, nor Almond-milk i'th' morning, Nor poach'd Egs to keep your worship soluble, No man to warm your Shirt, and blow your Roses: Nor none to reverence your round lace Breeches: If thou wilt needs goe, and goe thus, Get a Case for thy Captainship, a shower will spoil thee else. Thus much for thee. _Tim._ Your Lordship's wondrous witty, very pleasant believe't. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Telamon, Dorialus, Agenor, Nisus, Leonti. _Leon._ No news yet of my Son? _Tela._ Sir, there be divers out in search: No doubt they'll bring the truth where he is, Or the occasion that led him hence. _Tim._ They have good eyes then. _Leon._ The gods goe with them: Who be those that wait there? _Tele._ The Lord _Ismenus_, your General, for his dispatch.