_Gent._ A little more, Good Lord. _Lav._ Not now, by---- Come, I must use ye. _Gent._ Goodness dwell still with you. [_Exeunt Gentill and Laval._ _Gab._ The sight of this old Gentleman, _Maria_, Pulls to my mine eyes again the living Picture Of _Perolot_ his virtuous Son, my first Love, That dy'd at _Orleance_. _Mar._ You have felt both fortunes, And in extreams, poor Lady; for young _Perolot_, Being every way unable to maintain you, Durst not make known his love to Friend or Father: My Lord _Lavall_, being powerful, and you poor, Will not acknowledge you. _Gab._ No more: Let's in wench: There let my Lute speak my Laments, they have t[ir]ed me. [_Exeunt._ _Enter two Courtiers._ _1 Court._ I grant, the Duke is wondrous provident In his now planting for succession, I know his care as honourable in the choice too. _Marines_ fair virtuous daughter; but what's all this? To what end excellent arrives this travel, When he that bears the main roof is so rotten? _2 Court._ You have hit it now indeed: For if Fame lye not He is untemperate. _1 Court._ You express him poorly, Too gentle Sir: the most deboist and barbarous; Believe it, the most void of all humanity, Howe'r his cunning, cloak it to his Uncle, And those his pride depends upon. _[2] Court._ I have heard too, Given excessively to drink. _1 Court._ Most certain, And in that drink most dangerous: I speak these things To one I know loves truth, and dares not wrong her. _2 Court._ You may speak on. _1 Court._ Uncertain as the Sea, Sir, Proud and deceitful as his sins Great Master; His appetite to Women (for there he carries His main Sail spread) so boundles, and abominably, That but to have her name by that tongue spoken, Poisons the virtue of the purest Virgin. _2 Cour._ I am sorry for young _Gabriella_ then, A Maid reputed, ever of fair carriage, For he has been noted visiting. _1 Court._ She is gone then, Or any else, that promises, or power, Gifts, or his guilful vows can work upon, But these are but poor parcels. _2 Court._ 'Tis great pity. _1 Court._ Nor want these sins a chief Saint to befriend 'em, The Devil follows him; and for a truth, Sir, Appears in visible figure often to him, At which time he's possest with sudden trances, Cold deadly sweats, and griping of the conscience, Tormented strangely, as they say. _2 Court._ Heaven turn him: This marriage-day mayst thou well curse, fair _Hellen_. But let's go view the ceremony. _1 Court._ I'll walk with you. [_Exeunt._ [_Musick._