What Sir, preparing for your noble journey? 'Tis well, and full of care. I saw your mind was wedded to the war, And knew you would prove some good man for your country, Therefore fair Cousin with your gentle pardon, I got this place: what, mourn at his advancement? You are to blame, he will come again sweet cousin, Mean time like sad _Penelope_ and sage, Amongst your maids at home, and huswifely. Leon: No Sir, I dare not leave her to that solitariness, She is young, and grief or ill news from those quarters May daily cross her, she shall goe along Sir. Duke of Medina: By no means Captain. Leon: By all means an't please ye. 218] Duke of Medina: What take a young and tender bodied Lady, And expose her to those dangers, and those tumults, A sickly Lady too? Leon: 'Twill make her well Sir, There's no such friend to health as wholsom travel. Sanchio: Away it must not be. Alonzo: It ought not Sir, Go hurry her? it is not humane, Captain. Duke of Medina: I cannot blame her tears, fright her with tempests, With thunder of the war. I dare swear if she were able. Leon: She is most able. And pray ye swear not, she must goe, there's no remedy, Nor greatness, nor the trick you had to part us, Which I smell too rank, too open, too evident (And I must tell you Sir, 'tis most unnoble) Shall hinder me: had she but ten hours life, Nay less, but two hours, I would have her with me, I would not leave her fame to so much ruine, To such a desolation and discredit As her weakness and your hot will wou'd work her to. [Enter _Perez_.] What Masque is this now? More tropes and figures, to abuse my sufferance, What cousin's this? Juan de Castro: _Michael van owle_, how dost thou? In what dark barn or tod of aged Ivy Hast thou lyen hid? Michael Perez: Things must both ebbe and flow, Coronel, And people must conceal, and shine again. You are welcom hither as your friend may say, Gentleman, A pretty house ye see handsomely seated, Sweet and convenient walks, the waters crystal. Alonzo: He's certain mad. Juan de Castro: As mad as a French Tayler, That has nothing in's head but ends of fustians. Michael Perez: I see you are packing now my gentle cousin, And my wife told me I should find it so, 'Tis true I do, you were merry when I was last here, 219] But 'twas your will to try my patience Madam. I am sorry that my swift occasions Can let you take your pleasure here no longer, Yet I would have you think my honour'd cousin, This house and all I have are all your servants. Leon: What house, what pleasure Sir, what do you mean? Michael Perez: