_Prota._ Fame gives her out To be a woman of [a] chastity Not to be wrought upon; and therefore Madam For me, though I have pleas'd you, to attempt her Were to no purpose. _Brun._ Tush, some other way. _Baud._ Faith I know none else, all my bringing up Aim'd at no other learning. _Lecure._ Give me leave, If my art fail me not, I have thought on A speeding project. _Brun._ What [ist]? but effect it, And thou shalt be my _Æsculapius_, Thy image shall be set up in pure gold, To which I'll fall down and worship it. _Lecure._ The Lady is fair. _Brun._ Exceeding fair. _Lecure._ And young. _Brun._ Some fifteen at the most. _Lecure._ And loves the King with equall ardor. _Brun._ More, she dotes on him. _Lecure._ Well then, [what] think you if I make a drink Which given unto him on the bridall night Shall for five days so rob his faculties, Of all ability to pay that duty, Which new made wives expect, that she shall swear She is not match'd to a man. _Prota._ 'Twere rare. _Lecure._ And then, If she have any part of woman in her, She'll or fly out, or at least give occasion Of such a breach which nere can be made up, Since he that to all else did never fail Of as much as could be perform'd by man Proves only Ice to her. _Brun._ 'Tis excellent. _Bawd._ The Physitian Helps ever at a dead lift; a fine calling, That can both raise, and take down, out upon thee. _Brun._ For this one service [I am] ever thine, Prepare it; I'll give it him my self, for you _Protaldye_, By this kiss, and our promis'd sport at night, Doe conjure you to bear up, not minding The opposition of _Theodoret_, Or any of his followers; What so ere You are, yet appear valiant, and make good The opinion that is had of you: For my self In the new Queens remove, being made secure, Fear not, I'll make the future building sure. [_Exeunt._ [_Wind horns._ _Enter Theodoret, Thierry._ _Theod._ This Stag stood well, and cunningly. _Thierry._ My horse, I'm sure, has found it, for her sides are Blooded from flank to shoulder, where's the troop? _Enter Martell._ _Theodoret._ Past homeward, weary and tir'd as we are, Now _Martell_, have you remembred what we thought of? _Mart._ Yes Sir, I have snigled him, and if there be Any desert in his blood, beside the itch, Or manly heat, but what decoctions Leaches, and callises have cram'd into him, Your Lordship shall know perfect. _Thier._ What's that, may not I know too? _Theod._ Yes Sir, To that end we cast the project. _Thierry._ What [ist]?