_Come all sad and solemn Shows,_ _That are quick-ey'd pleasures foes;_ _We convent nought else but woes._ _We convent_, &c. _3 Qu._ This funeral path, brings to your houshold[s] grave[:] Joy seize on you again: peace, sleep with him. _2 Qu._ And this to yours. _1 Qu._ Yours this way: Heavens lend A thousand differing ways to one sure end. _3 Qu._ This world's a City full of straying streets, And Death's the Market-place, where each one meets. [_Exeunt severally._ _Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._ _Enter Jaylor and Wooer._ _Jail._ I may depart with little, while I live, something I May cast to you, not much: Alas the Prison I Keep, though it be for great ones, yet they seldom Come; before one _Salmon_, you shall take a number Of Minnows: I am given out to be better lin'd Than it can appear, to me report is a true Speaker: I would I were really, that I am Deliver'd to be: Marry, what I have (be it what It will) I will assure upon my daughter at The day of my death. _Wooer._ Sir, I demand no more than your own offer, And I will estate your Daughter, in what I Have promised. _Jail._ Well, we will talk more of this, when the solemnity Is past; But have you a full promise of her? _Enter Daughter._ When that shall be seen, I tender my consent. _Wooer._ I have Sir; here she comes. _Jail._ Your friend and I have chanced to name You here, upon the old business: but no more of that. Now, so soon as the Court-hurry is over, we will Have an end of it: I' th' mean time look tenderly To the two prisoners. I can tell you they are Princes. _Daugh._ These strewings are for their Chamber; 'tis pity they Are in prison, and 'twere pity they should be out: I Do think they have patience to make any adversity Asham'd; the prison it self is proud of 'em; and They have all the world in their Chamber. _Jail._ They are fam'd to be a pair of absolute men. _Daugh._ By my troth, I think Fame but stammers 'em, they Stand a grief above the reach of report. _Jail._ I heard them reported in the battel, to be the only doers. _Daugh._ Nay, most likely, for they are noble sufferers; I Marvel how they would have look'd, had they been Victors, that with such a constant Nobility, enforce A freedom out of bondage, making misery their Mirth, and affliction a toy to jest at. _Jail._ Doe they so?