If thou pursuest me further I run stark mad, If you have more hurt Dukes or Gentlemen, To lye here on your cure, I shall be desperate, I know the trick, and you shall feel I know it, Are ye so hot that no hedge can contain ye? I'le have thee let blood in all the veins about thee, I'le have thy thoughts found too, and have them open'd, Thy spirits purg'd, for those are they that fire ye, Thy maid shall be thy Mistris, thou the maid, And all those servile labours that she reach at, And goe through cheerfully, or else sleep empty, That maid shall lye by me to teach you duty, You in a pallet by to humble ye, And grieve for what you lose. Margarita: I have lost my self Sir, And all that was my base self, disobedience, [kneels. My wantonness, my stubborness I have lost too, And now by that pure faith good wives are crown'd with, By your own nobleness. [Enter _Altea_.] Leon: I take ye up, and wear ye next my heart, See you be worth it. Now what with you? 227] Altea: I come to tell my Lady, There is a fulsome fellow would fain speak with her. Leon: 'Tis _Cacafogo_, goe and entertain him, And draw him on with hopes. Margarita: I shall observe ye. Leon: I have a rare design upon that Gentleman, And you must work too. Altea: I shall Sir most willingly. Leon: Away then both, and keep him close in some place From the Dukes sight, and keep the Duke in too, Make 'em believe both, I'le find time to cure 'em. [Exeunt. [Enter _Perez_, and _Estifania_, with a Pistol, and a Dagge[r].] Michael Perez: Why how darst thou meet me again thou rebel, And knowst how thou hast used me thrice, thou rascal? Were there not waies enough to fly my vengeance, No holes nor vaults to hide thee from my fury, But thou must meet me face to face to kill thee? I would not seek thee to destroy thee willingly, But now thou comest to invite me, And comest upon me, How like a sheep-biting Rogue taken i'th' manner, And ready for the halter dost thou look now! Thou hast a hanging look thou scurvy thing, hast ne'r a knife Nor ever a string to lead thee to Elysium? Be there no pitifull 'Pothecaries in this town, That have compassion upon wretched women, And dare administer a dram of rats-bane, But thou must fall to me? Estifania: I know you have mercy. Michael Perez: If I had tuns of mercy thou deserv'st none, What new trick is now afoot, and what new houses Have you i'th' air, what orchards in apparition, What canst thou say for thy life? Estifania: