_Gond._ I wo'd thou wouldst sit still, and say nothing: what mad-man let thee lo[o]se to do more mischief than a dousen whirlwinds, keep thy hands in thy muff, and warm the idle worms in thy fingers ends: will ye be doing still? will no entreating serve ye? no lawfull warning? I must remove and leave your Ladyship; Nay never hope to stay me, for I will run, from that Smooth, Smiling, Witching, Cousening, Tempting, Damning face of thine, as far as I can find any land, where I will put my self into a daily course of Curses for thee, and all thy Familie. _Oria._ Nay good my Lord sit still, I'll promise peace And fold mine Armes up, let but mine eye discourse; Or let my voyce, set to some pleasing cord, sound out The sullen strains of my neglected love. _Gond._ Sing till thou crack thy treble-string in peeces, And when thou hast done, put up thy pipes and walk, Doe any thing, sit still and tempt me not. _Oria._ I had rather sing at doors for bread, than sing to this fellow, but for hate: if this should be told in the Court, that I begin to woe Lords, what a troop of the untrust nobilitie should I have at my lodging to morrow morning. SONG. _Come sleep, and with th[y] sweet deceiving,_ _Lock me in delight a while,_ _Let some pleasing Dreams beguile_ _All my fancies; That from thence,_ _I may feel an influence,_ _All my powers of care bereaving._ _Though but a shadow, but a sliding,_ _Let me know some little Joy,_ _We that suffer long anoy_ _Are contented with a thought_ _Through an idle fancie wrought_ _O let my joyes, have some abiding._ _Gond._ Have you done your wassayl? 'tis a handsome drowsie dittie I'll assure ye, now I had as leave hear a Cat cry, when her tail is cut off, as hear these lamentations, these lowsie love-layes, these bewailements: you think you have caught me Lady, you think I melt now, like a dish of May butter, and run, all into brine, and passion, yes, yes, I 'm taken, look how I cross my arms, look pale, and dwyndle, and wo'd cry, but for spoyling my face; we must part, nay we'll avoyd all Ceremony, no kissing Lady, I desire to know your Ladiship no more; death of my soul the Duke! _Oria._ God keep your Lordship. _Gond._ From thee and all thy sex. _Oria._ I'll be the Clark, and crie, _Amen_, Your Lordships ever assured enemie _Oriana_. [_Exit. Oriana, Manet Gondarino._ _Actius Tertius. Scæna Secunda._ _Enter Duke, Arrigo, Lucia._ _Gond._ All the days good, attend your Lordship.