_Timan._ Berlady they'll bruze her: and she were of brass. I am sure they'll break stone Walls: I have had experience of them both, and they have made me desperate: but there's a messenger, Madam, come from the Prince with a Letter to _Ismenus_, who by him returns an answer. _Bac._ This comes as pat as wishes: thou shalt presently away _Timantus_. _Tim._ Whither Madam? _Ba._ To the Prince, and take the Messenger for guide. _Tim._ What shall I do there? I have done too much mischief to be believ'd again; or indeed, to scape with my head on my back, if I be once known. _Bac._ Thou art a weak shallow fool: get thee a disguise, and withal, when thou com'st before him, have a Letter fain'd to deliver him: and then, as thou hast ever hope of goodness by me, or after me, strike one home stroke that shall not need another: dar'st thou speak, dar'st thou? if thou fall'st off, go be a Rogue again, and lie and pander to procure thy meat: dar'st thou speak to me? _Tim._ Sure I shall never walk when I am dead: I have no spirit, Madam, I'll be drunk but I'll do it, that's all my refuge. [_Exit._ _Bac._ Away, no more, then I'll raise an Army whilst the King yet lives, if all the means and power I have can do it, I cannot tell. _Enter_ Ismenus _and three Lords_. _Ism._ Are you inventing still? we'll ease your studies. _Bac._ Why how now saucy Lords? _Ism._ Nay, I'll shake ye; yes devil, I will shake ye. _Bac._ Do not you know me Lords? _Nis._ Yes deadly sin we know ye, would we did not. _Ism._ Doe you hear whore, a plague a God upon thee, the Duke is dead. _Bach._ Dead! _Ism._ I, wild-fire and brimstone take thee: good man he is dead, and past those miseries which thou, salt infection-like; like a disease flungst upon his head. Dost thou hear, and 'twere not more respect [to] Womanhood in general than thee, because I had a Mother, who I will not say she was good, she liv'd so near thy time, I would have thee in vengeance of this man, whose peace is made in heaven by this time, tied to a post; and dried i' th' sun, and after carried about, and shewn at Fairs for money, with a long story of the devil thy father, that taught thee to be whorish, envious, bloudy. _Bac._ Ha, ha, ha. _Ism._ You fleering harlot, I'll have a horse to leap thee, and thy base issue shall carry Sumpters. Come Lords, bring her along, we'll to the Prince all, where her hell-hood shall wait his censure; and if he spare the[e] she-Goat, may he lie with thee again: and beside, maist thou lay upon him some nasty foul disease, that hate still follows, and his end a dry ditch. Lead you corrupted whore, or I'll draw a goad shall make you skip: away to the Prince.