MACI. 'Tis true, sir, committed for the stir here to-night. Now would I have you send your brother home afore him, with the report of this your kindness done him, to his sister, which will so pleasingly possess her, and out of his mouth too, that in the meantime you may clap your action on Brisk, and your wife, being in so happy a mood, cannot entertain it ill, by any means. DELI. 'Tis very true, she cannot, indeed, I think. MACI. Think! why 'tis past thought; you shall never meet the like opportunity, I assure you. DELI. I will do it. -- Brother, pray you go home afore (this gentleman and I have some private business), and tell my sweet wife I'll come presently. FUNG. I will, brother. MACI. And, signior, acquaint your sister, how liberally, and out of his bounty, your brother has used you (do you see?), made you a man of good reckoning; redeem'd that you never were possest of, credit; gave you as gentlemanlike terms as might be; found no fault with your coming behind the fashion; nor nothing. FUNG. Nay, I am out of those humours now. MACI. Well, if you be out, keep your distance, and be not made a shot-clog any more. -- Come, signior, let's make haste. [EXEUNT. SCENE VII. -- THE COUNTER. ENTER FALLACE AND FASTIDIOUS BRISK. FAL. O, master Fastidious, what pity is it to see so sweet a man as you are, in so sour a place! [KISSES HIM. COR. As upon her lips, does she mean? MIT. O, this is to be imagined the Counter, belike. FAST. Troth, fair lady, 'tis first the pleasure of the fates, and next of the constable, to have it so: but I am patient, and indeed comforted the more in your kind visit. FAL. Nay, you shall be comforted in me more than this, if you please, sir. I sent you word by my brother, sir, that my husband laid to 'rest you this morning; I know now whether you received it or no. FAST. No, believe it, sweet creature, your brother gave me no such intelligence. FAL. O, the lord! FAST. But has your husband any such purpose? FAL. O, sweet master Brisk, yes: and therefore be presently discharged, for if he come with his actions upon you, Lord deliver you! you are in for one half-a-score year; he kept a poor man in Ludgate once twelve year for sixteen shillings. Where's your keeper? for love's sake call him, let him take a bribe, and despatch you. Lord, how my heart trembles! here are no spies, are there? FAST. No, sweet mistress. Why are you in this passion?