_Si._ Do but this one thing, on my knees I beg it, Stay but two hours till I return again. For I will to her, tell her all your merits, Your most unvalu'd love, and last your danger; If she relent, then live still, and live loving, Happy, and high in favour: if she frown-- _Mem._ Shall I be sure to know it? _Si._ As I live, Sir, My quick return shall either bring ye fortune, Or leave you to your own fate. _Mem._ Two hours? _Si._ Yes, Sir. _Mem._ Let it be kept, away, I will expect it. [_Ex._ Mem. Si. _Enter_ Chilax, _Fool and Boy_. _Chi._ You dainty wits! two of ye to a Cater, To cheat him of a dinner? _Boy._ Ten at Court, Sir, Are few enough, they are as wise as we are. _Chi._ Hang ye, I'le eat at any time, and any where, I never make that part of want, preach to me What ye can do, and when ye list. _Fool._ Your patience, 'Tis a hard day at Court, a fish day. _Chi._ So it seems, Sir, The fins grow out of thy face. _Fool._ And to purchase This day the company of one dear Custard, Or a mess of Rice ap _Thomas_, needs a main wit; Beef we can bear before us lined with Brewes And tubs of Pork; vociferating Veals, And Tongues that ne're told lye yet. _Chi._ Line thy mouth with 'em. _Fool._ Thou hast need, and great need, For these finny fish-dayes, The Officers understandings are so flegmatick, They cannot apprehend us. _Chi._ That's great pity, For you deserve it, and being apprehended The whip to boot; Boy what do you so near me? I dare not trust your touch Boy. _Enter_ Stremon _and his Boy_. _Boy._ As I am vertuous, What, thieves amongst our selves? _Chi._ _Stremon._ _Stre._ Lieutenant. _Chi._ Welcome a shore, a shore. _Fool._ What _Mounsieur Musick_? _Stre._ My fine Fool. _Boy._ Fellow _Crack_, why what a consort Are we now blest withal? _Fool._ Fooling and fidling, Nay and we live not now boys; what new songs, Sirra? _Stre._ A thousand, man, a thousand. _Fool._ Itching Airs Alluding to the old sport. _Stre._ Of all sizes. _Fool._ And how does small _Tym Treble_ here; the heart on't? _2 Boy._ To do you service. _Fool._ O _Tym_ the times, the times _Tym_. _Stre._ How does the General, And next what money's stirring? _Chi._ For the General He's here, but such a General! The time's chang'd, _Stremon_, He was the liberal General, and the loving, The feeder of a Souldier, and the Father, But now become the stupid'st. _Stre._ Why, what ails he? _Chi._ Nay, if a Horse knew, and his head's big enough, I'le hang for't; did'st thou ever see a Dog Run mad o'th' tooth-ache, such another toy Is he now, so he glotes and grins, and bites. _Fool._ Why hang him quickly, And then he cannot hurt folks.