_Ura._ Why I [w]ould goe to the good Marquis my Brother, and put my self into his hands, that so He may preserve himself. _Ism._ Oh that thou hadst no seed of thy Mother in thee, and couldst mean this now. _Ura._ Why feth I do, wou'd I might ne'er stir more if I do not. _Ism._ I shall prove a ridiculous fool, I'll be damn'd else: hang me if I do not half believe thee. _Ura._ By my troth you may. _Ism._ By my troth I doe: I know I'm an Ass for't, But I cannot help it. _Ura._ And won you tell me then? _Ism._ Yes faith will I, or any thing else i'th' world: for I think thou art as good a creature as ever was born. _Ura._ But ail goe i' this ladst [reparrell]: But you mun help me to Silver. _Ism._ Help thee? why the pox take him that will not help thee to any thing i'th' world, I'll help thee to Money, and I'll do't presently too, and yet soul, If you should play the scurvy Harlotry little pocky baggage now and cosin me, what then? _Ura._ Why, an I do, wou'd I might ne'r see day agen. _Ism._ Nay, by this light, I do not think thou wilt: I'll presently provide thee Money and a Letter. [_Exit_ Ism. _Ura._ I, but I'll ne'er deliver it. When I have found my Brother, I will beg To serve him; but he shall never know who I am: For he must hate me then for my bad mother: I'll say I am a Countrey Lad that want a service, And have straid on him by chance, lest he discover me; I know I must not live long, but that taime I ha' to spend, shall be in serving him. And though my Mother seek to take his life away, In ai day my brother shall be taught That I was ever good, though she were naught. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Bacha _and_ Timantus: Bacha _reading_ _a Letter_. _Bac._ Run away, the Devil be her guide. _Tim._ Faith she's gone: there's a Letter, I found it in her pocket, would I were with her, she's a handsome Lady, a plague upon my bashfulness, I had bobb'd her long ago else. _Bach._ What a base whore is this, that after all My ways for her advancement, should so poorly Make virtue her undoer, and choose this time, The King being deadly sick, and I intending A present marriage with some forreign Prince, To strengthen and secure my self. She writes here Like a wise Gentlewoman, She will not stay: And the example of her dear brother, makes her Fear her self, to whom she means to flie. _Tim._ Why, who can help it? _Bac._ Now Poverty and Lechery, which is thy end, rot thee, where e'er thou goest with all thy goodness.