_Tela._ Think Sir? I know it. Sir, the _Princess_, is past all hope of life since the Dwarf was put to death. _Leon._ Let her be so, I have other matters in hand: but this same Taylor angers me, he has made my doublet so wide: and see, the knave has put no points at my arme. _Tima._ Those will be put to quickly Sir, upon any occasion. _Leon. Telamon_, have you bid this Dancer come a mornings? _Tela._ Yes Sir. _Leon. T[i]mantus_, let me see the glass again: look you how careless you are grown, is this tooth well put in? _Tima._ Which Sir? _Leon._ This Sir. _Tima._ It shall be. _Telam._ Me thinks that tooth should put him in mind on's years: and _Timantus_, stands as if (seeing the _Duke_, in such a youthfull habit) he were looking in's mouth how old he were. _Leon._ So, so. _Tela._ Will you have your Gown sir? _Leon._ My Gown? why, am I sick? bring me my Sword. [_Exit Tela._ [_Timantus_,] Let a couple of the great horses be brought out for us. _Tima._ He'll kill himself. Why, will you ride Sir: _Leon._ Ride? Dost thou think I cannot ride? _Timan._ O yes Sir, I know it: but as I conceive your journey, you wou'd have it private; and then you were better take a Coach. _Leon._ These Coaches make me sick: yet 'tis no matter, let it be so. _Enter Telamon with a sword._ _Tel._ Sir, here's your sword. _Leon._ O well sed: let me see it, I could me thinks Why _Telamon_, bring me another: what, thinkst thou I will wear a sword in vain? _Tela._ He has not strength enough to draw it, A yoak of Fleas ty'd to a hair would have drawn it. 'Tis out sir now, the Scabbard is broke. _Leon._ O put it up again, and on with it; me thinks I am not drest till I feel my sword on. _Telamon_, if any of my counsell aske for me, Say I am gone to take the air. _Tima._ He has not been drest this twenty years then, If this vain hold but a week, he will learn to play o'th base violl and sing to't: He's poetical alreadie; For I have spide a Sonnet on's making lye by's beds side, I'll be so unmannerly to read it. [_Exit._ _Enter Hidaspes, Cleophila, and Hero, Hidaspes in a Bed._ [_Hida._] He's dead, he's dead, and I am following. _Cleo._ Ask _Cupid_ mercie Madam. _Hida._ O my heart. _Cleo._ Help! _Hero._ Stir her: _Hida._ O, O! _Cleo._ She's going, wretched wom[e]n that we are: Look to her, and I'll pray the while. _Hero._ Why Madam? [_Shee kneels._