_Inst._ Well, go your way! When your father, Reason, Heareth how ye obey me, at this season, I think he will think his daughter now May marry another man for you. When wits stand so in their own conceit, Best let them go; till pride, at his height, Turn and cast them down headlong again: And ye shall see proved by this Wit, plain. If Reason hap not to come, the rather His own destruction he will sure gather; Wherefore to Reason will I now get me, Leaving that charge whereabout he set me. [_Exeat_ INSTRUCTION. TEDIOUSNESS _cometh in with a visor over his head._ [_Tediousness._] Oh, the body of me! What caitiffs be those That will not once flee From Tediousness' nose; But thus disease me Out of my nest, When I should ease me This body to rest! That Wit, that villain, That wretch--a shame take him! It is he plain That thus bold doth make him, Without my licence To stalk by my door To that drab, Science, To wed that whore! But I defy her; And, for that drab's sake, Or Wit come nigh her, The knave's head shall ache; These bones, this mall, Shall beat him to dust Or that drab shall Once quench that knave's lust! But, ha! methinks I am not half lusty; These joints, these links, Be rough and half rusty; I must go shake them, Supple to make them! Stand back, ye wretches! Beware the fetches Of Tediousness. These caitiffs to bless, Make room, I say; Round every way-- This way, that way! What cares what way? Before me, behind me, Round about wind me! Now I begin To sweat in my skin; Now am I nemble To make them tremble. Pash head! pash brain! The knaves are slain, All that I hit! Where art thou, Wit! Thou art but dead! Off goeth thy head At the first blow! Ho, ho! ho ho! [WIT _speaketh at the door_. [_Wit._] Study! _Study._ Here, sir! _Wit._ How, doth thy head ache? _Study._ Yea, God wot, sir! much pain I do take! _Wit._ Diligence! _Dil._ Here, sir, here! _Wit._ How dost thou? Doth thy stomach serve thee to fight now? _Dil._ Yea, sir, with yonder wretch--a vengeance on him That threateneth you thus. Set even upon him! _Study._ Upon him, Diligence? Better nay! _Dil._ Better nay, Study? Why should we fray? _Study._ For I am weary; my head acheth sore. [_The last three lines are, in the manuscript, scored through._] _Dil._ Why, foolish Study! thou shalt do no more But aid my master with thy presence. _Wit._ No more shalt thou neither, Diligence! Aid me with your presence, both you twain; And, for my love, myself shall take pain! _Study._ Sir! we be ready to aid you so.