_1 Gent._ Oh no more, Sir, You make her weep agen; alas poor _Cupid_: Shall she not shift her self? _1 Bro._ Oh by no means Sir: We dare not have her seen yet, all the while She keeps this shape, 'tis but thought device, And she may follow him so without suspition, To see if she can draw all his wild passions, To one point only, and that's love, the main point: So far his Highness grants, and gave at first, Large approbation to the quick conceit, Which then was quick indeed. _1 Gent._ You make her blush insooth. _1 Bro._ I fear 'tis more the flag of shame, than grace Sir. _1 Gent._ They both give but one kind of colour, Sir: If it be bashfulness in that kind taken, It is the same with grace; and there she weeps agen. In truth y'are too hard, much, much too bitter Sir, Unless you mean to have her weep her eyes out, To play a _Cupid_ truly. _1 Bro._ Come ha' done then: We should all fear to sin first; for 'tis certain, When 'tis once lodg'd, though entertain'd in mirth, It must be wept out, if it e'er come forth. _1 Gent._ Now 'tis so well, I'll leave you. _1 Bro._ Faithfully welcome, Sir, Go _Cupid_ to your charge; he's your own now; If he want love, none will be blam'd but you. _Cu._ The strangest marriage, and unfortunat'st Bride That ever humane memory contain'd; I cannot be my self for't. [_Exit._ _Enter the Clown._ _Clow._ Oh Gentlemen? _1 Bro._ How now, Sir, what's the matter? _Clo._ His melancholly passion is half spent already, Then comes his angry fit at the very tail on't, Then comes in my pain, gentlemen; h'as beat me e'en to a Cullis. I am nothing, right worshipful, but very pap, And jelly: I have no bones, my body's all one business, They talk of ribs and chines most freely abroad i'th' world, Why, I have no such thing; who ever lives to see me dead, Gentlemen, shall find me all mummie good to fill Gallipots, And long dildo glasses: I shall not have a bone to throw At a dog. _Omnes._ Alas poor vassal; how he goes! _Clo._ Oh Gentlemen, I am unjoynted, do but think o' that: My breast is beat into my maw, that what I eat, I am fain to take't in all at mouth with spoons; A lamentable hearing; and 'tis well known, my belly Is driven into my back. I earn'd four Crowns a month most dearly Gentlemen, And one he must have when the fit's upon him, The Privy-purse allows it, and 'tis thriftiness, He would break else s[o]me forty pounds in Casements, And in five hundred years undo the Kingdom: I have cast it up to a quarrel. _1 Bro._ There's a fellow kickt about Court, I would He had his place, brother, but for one fit of his indignation. _2 Bro._ And suddainly I have thought upon a means for't. _1 Bro._ I prethee how?