_Prot._ Why would you have me lose That bloud that is dedicated to your service In any other quarrel? _Brun._ No, reserve it, As I will study to preserve thy credit: You sirrah, be't your care to find out one That is poor, though valiant, that at any rate Will, to redeem my servants reputation, Receive a publique baffling. _Bawdb._ Would your Highness Were pleas'd to inform me better of your purpose. _Brun._ Why one, Sir, that would thus be box'd Or kick'd, do you apprehend me now? _Bawdb._ I feel you Madam, The man that shall receive this from my Lord, Shall have a thousand crowns. _Pro._ He shall. _Bawdb._ Besides His day of bastinadoing past o'er, He shall not lose your grace, nor your good favour? _Brun._ That shall make way to it. _Bawdb._ It must be a man Of credit in the Court, that is to be The foil unto your v[a]lour. _Prot._ True, it should. _Bawdb._ And if he have place there, 'tis not the worse. _Brun._ 'Tis much the better. _Bawdb._ If he be a Lord, 'Twill be the greater grace. _Brun._ Thou art in the right. _Bawdb._ Why then behold that valiant man and Lord, That for your sake will take a cudgeling: For be assur'd, when it is spread abroad That you have dealt with me, they'll give you out For one of the Nine Worthies. _Brun._ Out you pandar, Why, to beat thee is only exercise For such as do affect it, lose not time In vain replies, but do it: come my solace Let us to bed, and our desires once quench'd We'll there determine of _Theodorets_ death For he's the Engine us'd to ruin us; Yet one wor[d] more, _Lecure_, art thou assur'd The potion will work? _Lecure._ My life upon it. _Brun._ Come my _Protaldye_, then glut me with Those best delights of man, that are deny'd To her that does expect them, being a Bride. _Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._ _Enter_ Thierry, _and_ Ordella, _as from bed_. _Thier._ Sure I have drunk the bloud of Elephants: The tears of Mandrake, and the Marble dew, Mixt in my draught, have quencht my natural heat, And left no spark of fire, but in mine eyes, With which I may behold my miseries: Ye wretched flames which play upon my sight, Turn inward, make me all one piece, though earth. My tears shall over-whelm you else too. _Or._ What moves my Lord to this strange sadness? If any late discerned want in me, Give cause to your repentance, care and duty Shall find a painful way to recompence. _Thier._ Are you yet frozen veins, feel you a breath, Whose temperate heat would make the North Star reel, Her Icy pillars thaw'd, and do you not melt? Draw nearer, yet nearer, That from thy barren kiss thou maist confess I have not heat enough to make a blush. _Ordel._ Speak nearer to my understanding, like a Husband.