_Laz._ I am content, for I do now wish to hold off longer, to whet my appetite, and do desire to meet with more troubles, so I might conquer them: And as a holy Lover that hath spent The tedious night with many a sigh and tears; Whilst he pursu'd his wench: and hath observ'd The smiles, and frowns, not daring to displease When at last, hath with his service won Her yielding heart; that she begins to dote Upon him, and can hold no longer out, But hangs about his neck, and wooes him more Than ever he desir'd her love before: Then begins to flatter his desert, And growing wanton, needs will cast her off; Try her, pick quarrels, to breed fresh delight, And to increase his pleasing appetite. _Jul._ Come Mouse will you walk? _Laz._ I pray thee let me be deliver'd of the joy I am so big with, I do feel that high heat within me, that I begin to doubt whether I be mortal: How I contemn my fellows in the Court, With whom I did but yesterday converse? And in a lower, and an humbler key Did walk and meditate on grosser meats? There are they still poor rogues, shaking their chops, And sneaking after Cheeses, and do run Headlong in chace, of every Jack of Beer That crosseth them, in hope of some repast, That it will bring them to, whilst I am here, The happiest wight that ever set his tooth To a dear novelty: approach my love, Come, let's go to knit the True Loves knot, That never can be broken. _Boy._ That is to marry a whore. _Laz._ When that is done, then will we taste the gift, Which Fates have sent my Fortunes up to lift. _Boy._ When that is done, you'll begin to repent upon a full stomach; but I see, 'tis but a form in destiny, not to be alter'd. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Arrigo _and Oriana_. _Oria._ Sir, what may be the current of your business, that thus you single out your time and place? _Arri._ Madam, the business now impos'd upon me, concerns you nearly, I wish some worser man might finish it. _Ori._ Why are ye chang'd so? are ye not well Sir? _Arr._ Yes Madam, I am well, wo'd you were so. _Oria._ Why Sir, I feel my self in perfect health. _Arri._ And yet ye cannot live long, Madam. _Oria._ Why good _Arrigo_? _Arr._ Why? ye must dye. _Oria._ I know I must, but yet my fate calls not upon me. _Arr._ It does; this hand the Duke commands shall give you death. _Oria._ Heaven, and the powers Divine, guard well the innocent. _Arr._ Lady, your Prayers may do your soul some good, That sure your body cannot merit by 'em: You must prepare to die.