MER. Well, I doubt all the physic he has will scarce recover her; she's too far spent. RE-ENTER ANAIDES WITH GELAIA, PROSAITES, AND COS, WITH THE BOTTLES. PHI. O here's the water come; fetch glasses, page. GEL. Heart of my body, here's a coil, indeed, with your jealous humours! nothing but whore and bitch, and all the villainous swaggering names you can think on! 'Slid, take your bottle, and put it in your guts for me, I'll see you pox'd ere I follow you any longer. ANA. Nay, good punk, sweet rascal; d--n me, if I am jealous now. GEL. That's true, indeed, pray let's go. MOR. What's the matter there? GEL. 'Slight, he has me upon interrogatories, (nay, my mother shall know how you use me,) where I have been? and why I should stay so long? and how is't possible? and withal calls me at his pleasure I know not how many cockatrices, and things. MOR. In truth and sadness, these are no good epitaphs Anaides, to bestow upon any gentlewoman; and I'll ensure you if I had known you would have dealt thus with my daughter, she should never have fancied you so deeply as she has done. Go to. ANA. Why, do you hear, mother Moria? heart! MOR. Nay, I pray you, sir, do not swear. ANA. Swear! why? 'sblood, I have sworn afore now, I hope. Both you and your daughter mistake me. I have not honour'd Arete, that is held the worthiest lady in the court, next to Cynthia, with half that observance and respect, as I have done her in private, howsoever outwardly I have carried myself careless, and negligent. Come, you are a foolish punk, and know not when you are well employed. Kiss me, come on; do it, I say. MOR. Nay, indeed, I must confess, she is apt to misprision. But I must have you leave it, minion. RE-ENTER ASOTUS. AMO. How now, Asotus! how does the lady? ASO. Faith, ill. I have left my page with her, at her lodging. HED. O, here's the rarest water that ever was tasted: fill him some. PRO. What! has my master a new page? MER. Yes, a kinsman of the lady Moria's: you must wait better now, or you are cashiered, Prosaites. ANA. Come, gallants; you must pardon my foolish humour; when I am angry, that any thing crosses me, I grow impatient straight. Here, I drink to you. PHI. O, that we had five or six bottles more of this liquor! PHA. Now I commend your judgment, Amorphus:-- [KNOCKING WITHIN.] Who's that knocks? look, page. [EXIT COS.] MOR. O, most delicious; a little of this would make Argurion well. PHA. O, no, give her no cold drink, by any means. ANA. 'Sblood, this water is the spirit of wine, I'll be hang'd else. RE-ENTER COS WITH ARETE. COS. Here's the lady Arete, madam. ARE. What, at your bever, gallants? MOR. Will't please your ladyship to drink? 'tis of the New Fountain water.