_Gond._ Mercy, oh Duke, I do appeal to thee: plant Canons there, and discharge them against my breast rather: nay, first let this she-fury sit still where she does, and with her nimble fingers stroke my hair, play with my fingers ends, or any thing, until my panting heart have broke my breast. _Duke._ You must abide her censure. [_The Lady rises from his knee._ _Enter old Gentlewoman._ _Gond._ I see her come, unbutton me, for she will speak. _Gentlew._ Where is he Sir? _Gond._ Save me, I hear her. _Ar._ There he is in state to give you audience. _Gentlew._ How does your [good] Lordship? _Gond._ Sick of the spleen. _Gentlew._ How? _Gond._ Sick. _Gentlew._ Will you chew a Nutmeg, you shall not refuse it, it is very comfortable. _Gond._ Nay, now thou art come, I know it Is the Devils Jubile, Hell is broke loose: My Lord, if ever I have done you service, Or have deserv'd a favour of your Grace, Let me be turn'd upon some present action, Where I may sooner die, than languish thus; Your Grace hath her petition, grant it her, and ease me now at last. _Duke._ No Sir, you must endure. _Gentlew._ For my petition, I hope your Lordship hath remembred me. _Oria._ 'Faith I begin to pity him, _Arrigo_, take her off, bear her away, say her petition is granted. _Gentlew._ Wh[i]ther do you draw me Sir? I know it is not my Lords pleasure I should be thus used, before my business be dispatched? _Arr._ You shall know more of that without. _Oria._ Unbind him Ladies, but before he go, this he shall promise; for the love I bear to our own sex, I would have them still hated by thee, and injoyn thee as a punishment, never hereafter willingly to come in the presence, or sight of any woman, nor never to seek wrongfully the publick disgrace of any. _Gond._ 'Tis that I would have sworn, and do: when I [meddle] with them, for their good, or their bad; may Time [call] back this day again, and when I come in their companies, may I catch the pox, by their breath, and have no other pleasure for it. _Duke._ Ye are [too] merciful. _Oria._ My Lord, I shew'd my sex the better. _Gond._ All is over-blown Sister: y'are like to have a fair night of it, and a Prince in your Arms: let's goe my Lord. _Duke._ Thus through the doubtful streams of joy and grief, True Love doth wade, and finds at last relief. [_Exeunt omnes._ NICE VALOUR. A Comedy. The Persons represented in the Play.