_Cel._ And by that vertue you have now profest, I charge you to beleeve me too, I can Now glory, that you have beene worth my triall, Which I beseech you pardon, had not you So valiantly recoverd in this conflict, You had beene my triumph, without hope of more Than my just scorne upon your wanton flame; Nor will I thinke these noble thoughts grew first From melancholy, for some femall losse, As the phantasticke world beleeves, but from Truth, and your love of Innocence, which shine So bright in the two royall luminaries At Court, you cannot lose your way to chastitie, Proceede, and speake of me as honour guides you. _Exit Lord._ I am almost tir'd, come Ladies weele beguile Dull time, and take the aire annother while. _Exeunt._ _The fifth Act._ _Enter Aretina and Servant._ _Are._ But hath Sir _Thomas_ lost five hundred pounds Already? _Ser._ And five hundred more he borrow'd, The Dice are notable devourers Madam, They make no more of peeces, than of pebbles, But thrust their heapes together to engender, Two hundred more the Caster cries this gentleman, I am w'ee. I ha that to nothing sir, the Caster Agen, tis covered, and the table too, With summes that frighed me, here one sneakes out, And with a Martyrs patience, smiles upon His moneyes Executioner, the Dice, Commands a pipe of good Tobacco, and I'th smoke on't vanishes; another makes The bones vault ore his head, sweares that ill throwing Has put his shoulder out of joynt, calls for A bone setter that lookes to'th boxe, to bid His master send him some more hundred pounds, Which lost, he takes tobacco, and is quiet; Here a strong arme throwes in, and in, with which He brusheth all the table, payes the Rookes That went their smelts a peece upon his hand, Yet sweares he has not drawne a stake this seven yeare. But I was bid make haste, my master may Lose this five hundred pounds ere I come thither. _Exit._ _Are._ If we both waste so fast, we shall soone finde Our state is not immortall, some thing in His other wayes appeare not well already. _Enter sir Thomas._ _Bor._ Yee Tortoises, why make you no more haste, Go pay to'th master of the house that money, And tell the noble gamsters, I have another Superfluous thousand pound, at night ile visit em. Dee heare? _Ser._ Yes and please you. _Bor._ Doo't ye drudges, Ta ra ra--_Aretina_. _Ar._ You have a pleasant humor sir. _Bor._ What should a gentleman be sad? _Ar._ You have lost. _Bor._ A transitory summe, as good that way As another. _Are._ Doe you not vexe within for't?