_Tuc._ The whoreson clouen-foote deuill in mans apparell lyes, There stood aboue forty dishes before me to day, That I nere toucht, because they were empty. _Min._ I am witnes young Gentlemen to that. |1285| _Tuc._ Farewell stinckers, I smel thy meaning Screech-owle, I doe tho I stop my nose: and Sirra Poet, we’ll haue thee vntrust for this; come, mother Mum-pudding, come. _Exeunt._ _Trumpets sound a florish, and then a sennate: Enter_ King _with_ Cælestine, Sir Walter Terrill, Sir Quintilian, Sir Adam, Blunt |1290| _and other Ladies and attendants: whilst the Trumpets sound the King_ _takes his leaue of the Bride-groome, and_ Sir Quintilian, _and last of the Bride._ _Kin._ My song of parting doth this burden beare; A kisse the Ditty, and I set it heere. |1295| Your lips are well in tune, strung with delight, By this faire Bride remember soone at night: Sir Walter. _Ter._ My Leige Lord, we all attend, The time and place. |1300| _Kin._ Till then my leaue commend. _They bring him to the doore: Enter at another doore_ Sir Vaughan. _Sir Vau._ Ladies, I am to put a verie easie suite vpon you all, and to desire you to fill your little pellies at a dinner of plums behinde noone; there be Suckets, and Marmilads, and Marchants, |1305| and other long white plummes that faine would kisse your delicate and sweet lippes; I indite you all together, and you especially my Ladie Pride; what doe you saie for your selles? for I indite you all. _Cæl._ I thanke you good Sir Vaughan, I will come. |1310| _Sir Vau._ Say Sentlewomen will you stand to me too? _All._ Wee’ll sit with you sweet Sir Vaughan. _Sir Vau._ God a mightie plesse your faces, and make your peauties last, when wee are all dead and rotten:--you all will come. _1 Lady._ All will come. |1315| _Sir Vau._ Pray God that Horace bee in his right wittes to raile now. _Exit._ _Cris._ Come Ladie, you shall be my dauncing guest To treade the maze of musicke with the rest. _Dem._ Ile lead you in. |1320| _Dicach._ A maze is like a doubt: Tis easie to goe in, hard to get out. _Blun._ We follow close behinde. _Philoca._ That measure’s best. Now none markes vs, but we marke all the rest. _Exeunt._ |1325| _Exeunt all sauing_ Sir Quintilian, Cælestine, _and_ Sir Walter Terrill.