_Mem._ Come hither, Have you brought your Instruments? _Sur._ They are within, Sir. _Mem._ Put to the doors a while there; ye can incise To a hairs breadth without defacing. _Sur._ Yes Sir. _Mem._ And take out fairly from the flesh. _Sur._ The least thing. _Mem._ Well come hither; take off my doublet, For look ye Surgeon, I must have ye cut My Heart out here, and handsomly: Nay, stare not, Nor do not start; I'll cut your throat else, Surgeon, Come swear to do it. _Sur._ Good Sir-- _Mem._ Sirrah, hold him, I'll have but one blow at his head. _Sur._ I'll do it, Why what should we do living after you, Sir? We'll dye before if ye please. _Mem._ No, no. _Sur._ Living? hang living. Is there ne'r a Cat hole where I may creep through? Would I were in the _Indies_. [_Aside._ _Mem._ Swear then, and after my death presently To kill your selves and follow, as ye are honest, As ye have faiths, and loves to me. _Dem._ We'll do it. _Eum._ Pray do not stir yet, we are near enough To run between all dangers. _Mem._ Here I am, Sir; Come, look upon me, view the best way boldly, Fear nothing, but cut home; if your hand shake, Sirrah, Or any way deface my heart i'th' cutting, Make the least scratch upon it; but draw it whole, Excellent fair, shewing at all points, Surgeon, The Honour and the Valour of the Owner, Mixt with the most immaculate love I send it, Look to't, I'll slice thee to the Soul. _Sur._ Ne'r fear, Sir, I'll do it daintily; would I were out once. _Mem._ I will not have ye smile, Sirrah, when ye do it, As though ye cut a Ladies Corn; 'tis scurvy: Do me it as thou dost thy Prayers, seriously. _Sur._ I'll do it in a dump, Sir. _Mem._ In a Dog, Sir, I'll have no dumps, nor dumplins; fetch your tools, And then I'll tell ye more. _Sur._ If I return To hear more, I'll be hang'd for't. _Mem._ Quick, quick. _Dem._ Yes Sir, With all the heels we have. [_Exeunt_ Surgeon, Demagoras. _Eumen._ Yet stand. _Pol._ He'l do it. _Eum._ He cannot, and we here. _Mem._ Why when ye Rascals, Ye dull Slaves: will ye come, Sir? Surgeon, syringe, Dog-leach, shall I come fetch ye? _Pol._ Now I'll to him. God save ye honour'd Brother. _Mem._ My dear _Polydore_, Welcome from travel, welcome; and how do ye? _Pol._ Well Sir, would you were so. _Mem._ I am, I thank ye. You are a better'd man much, I the same still, An old rude Souldier, Sir. _Pol._ Pray be plain, Brother, And tell me but the meaning of this Vision, For to me it appears no more; so far From common Course and Reason. _Mem._ Thank thee, Fortune, At length I have found the man: the man must do it, The man in honour bound. _Pol._ To do what? _Mem._ Hark, for I will bless ye with the circumstance Of that weak shadow that appear'd.