_Cup._ Oh brothers, oh, I fear 'tis mortal: help, oh help, I'm made the wretchedst woman by this accident, That ever love beguil'd. _Enter two Brothers._ _2 Bro._ We are undone Brother, Our shames are too apparent: Away receptacle Of Luxury, and dishonor, most unfortunate, To make thy self but lucky to thy spoil, After thy Sexes manner: lift him up Brother; He breaths not to our comfort, he's too wasted Ever to cheer us more: A Chirurgeon speedily; Hence; the unhappiest that e'er stept aside, She'll be a Mother, before she's known a Bride. _Cup._ Thou hadst a most unfortunate conception, What e'er thou prov'st to be; in midst of mirth Comes ruine, for a welcome, to thy birth. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Secunda._ _Enter_ Shamont. _Sham._ This is a beautiful life now; privacy The sweetness and the benefit of Essence: I see there is no man, but may make his Paradice; And it is nothing but his love, and dotage Upon the worlds foul joyes, that keeps him out on't: For he that lives retir'd in mind, and spirit, Is still in Paradice, and has his innocence, Partly allow'd for his companion too, As much as stands with justice: here no eyes Shoot their sharp pointed scorns upon my shame; They know no terms of reputation here, No punctual limits, or precise dimensions: Plain down-right honesty is all the beauty And elegancy of life, found amongst Shepheards; For knowing nothing nicely, or desiring it, Quits many a vexation from the mind, With which our quainter knowledge does abuse us; The name of envy is a stranger here, That dries mens blouds abroad, robs Health and Rest, Why here's no such fury thought on: no, nor falshood, That brotherly disease, fellow-like devil, That plays within our bosom, and betrays us. _Enter 1 Gent._ _1 Gent._ Oh are you here? _Sham. La Nove_, 'tis strange to see thee. _1 Gent._ I ha' rid one horse to death, To find you out, Sir. _Sham._ I am not to be found of any man That saw my shame, nor seen long. _1 Gent._ Good, your attention: You ought to be seen now, and found out, Sir, If ever you desire before your ending To perform one good office, nay, a dear one, Mans time can hardly match it. _Sham._ Be't as precious As reputation; if it come from Court I will not hear on't. _1 Gent._ You must hear of this, Sir. _Sham._ Must? _1 Gent._ You shall hear it. _Sham._ I love thee, that thou'lt dye. _1 Gent._ 'Twere nobler in me, Than in you living: you will live a murderer, If you deny this office. _Sham._ Even to death, Sir. _1 Gent._ Why then you'll kill your brother. _Sham._ How?