_Per._ Oh monstrous, monstrous beastly villain. [_Exit._ _Mar._ How cross this falls, and from all expectation! And what the end shall be, Heaven only yet knows: Only I wish, and hope. But I forget still, _Casta_ must be the bait, or all miscarries. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Gentille _with a Torch_, Shalloon _above_. _Gent._ Holla, _Shaloon_. _Shal._ Who's there? _Gent._ A word from the Duke, Sir. _Shal._ Your pleasure. _Gent._ Tell your Lord he must to Court strait. _Shal._ He is ill at ease: and prays he may be pardon'd The occasions of this night. _Gent._ Belike he is drunk then: He must away; the Duke and his fair Lady, The beauteous _Helena_, are now at _Cent_. Of whom she has such fortune in her carding, The Duke has lost a thousand Crowns, and swears, He will not go to bed, till by _Lavall_ The Tide of loss be turn'd again. Awake him, For 'tis the pleasure of the Duke he must rise. _Sha._ Having so strict command (Sir) to the contrary, I dare not do it: I beseech your pardon. _Gent._ Are you sure he is there? _Sha._ Yes. _Gen._ And asleep? _Sha._ I think so. _Gen._ And are you sure you will not tell him, _Shalon_? _Sha._ Yes, very sure. _Gen._ Then I am sure, I will. Open, or I must force. _Sha._ Pray ye stay, he is not, Nor will not be this night. You may excuse it. _Gent._ I knew he was gone about some womans labour. As good a neighbor, though I say it, and as comfortable: Many such more we need _Shaloon_. Alas, poor Lady, Thou art like to lie cross-legg'd to night. Good Monsieur, I will excuse your Master for this once, Sir, Because sometimes I have lov'd a wench my self too. _Sha._ 'Tis a good hearing, Sir. _Gent._ But for your lye, _Shaloon_, If I had you here, it should be no good hearing. For your pate I would pummel. _Sha._ A fair good night, Sir. _Gent._ Good night, thou noble Knight, Sir _Pandarus_. My heart is cold o'th' suddain, and a strange dulness Possesses all my body: thy Will be done Heaven. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Gabriella _and_ Casta: _and_ Maria _with a Taper_. _Casta._ 'Faith Friend, I was even going to my bed, When your Maid told me of your sudden sickness: But from my grave (so truly I love you) I think your name would raise me: ye look ill Since last I saw ye, much decay'd in colour: Yet I thank Heaven, I find no such great danger As your Maid frighted me withal: take courage And give your sickness course: some grief you have got That feeds within upon your tender spirits, And wanting open way to vent it self, Murders your mind, and choaks up all your sweetness. _Gab._ It was my Maids fault; worthy friend, to trouble ye, So late, upon so light a cause: yet since I have ye Oh my dear _Casta_.