_Elder Lo_. Yes, but I see but rotten fruits on't. _Lady_. Do not denie your hand for I must kiss it, and take my last farewell, now let me die so you be happy. _El. Lo_. I am too foolish: Ladie speak dear Ladie. _Lady_. No let me die. _She swounds._ _Mar_. Oh my Sister! _Abi_. O my Ladie help, help. _Mar_. Run for some _Rosalis_! _Elder Lo_. I have plaid the fine ass: bend her bodie, Lady, best, dearest, worthiest Lady, hear your Servant, I am not as I shew'd: O wretched fool, to fling away the Jewel of thy life thus. Give her more air, see she begins to stir, sweet Mistress hear me! _Lady_. Is my Servant well? _Elder Lo_. In being yours I am so. _Lady_. Then I care not. _Elder Lo_. How do ye, reach a chair there; I confess my fault not pardonable, in pursuing thus upon such tenderness my wilfull error; but had I known it would have wrought thus with ye, thus strangely, not the world had won me to it, and let not (my best Ladie) any word spoke to my end disturb your quiet peace: for sooner shall you know a general ruine, than my faith broken. Do not doubt this Mistris, for by my life I cannot live without you. Come, come, you shall not grieve, rather be angrie, and heap infliction upon me: I will suffer. O I could curse my self, pray smile upon me. Upon my faith it was but a trick to trie you, knowing you lov'd me dearlie, and yet strangely that you would never shew it, though my means was all humilitie. _All_. Ha, ha. _Elder Lo_. How now? _Lady_. I thank you fine fool for your most fine plot; this was a subtile one, a stiff device to have caught Dottrels with. Good senceless Sir, could you imagine I should swound for you, and know your self to be an arrant ass? I, a discovered one. 'Tis quit I thank you Sir. Ha, ha, ha. _Mar_. Take heed Sir, she may chance to swound again. _All_. Ha, ha, ha. _Abi_. Step to her Sir, see how she changes colour. _Elder Lo_. I'le goe to hell first, and be better welcom. I am fool'd, I do confess it, finely fool'd, Ladie, fool'd Madam, and I thank you for it. _Lady_. Faith 'tis not so much worth Sir: But if I knew when you come next a burding, I'le have a stronger noose to hold the Woodcock. _All_. Ha, ha, ha. _Elder Lo_. I am glad to see you merry, pray laugh on. _Mar_. H'ad a hard heart that could not laugh at you Sir, ha, ha, ha. _Lady_. Pray Sister do not laugh, you'le anger him, And then hee'l rail like a rude Costermonger, That School-boys had couzened of his Apples, As loud and senceless. _Elder Lo_. I will not rail. _Mar_. Faith then let's hear him Sister. _Elder Lo_. Yes, you shall hear me. _Lady_. Shall we be the better by it then? _Eld. L_. No, he that makes a woman better by his words, I'le have him Sainted: blows will not doe it. _Lady_. By this light hee'll beat us. _Elder Lo_. You do deserve it richly, And may live to have a Beadle doe it. _Lady_. Now he rails. _Elder Lo_. Come scornfull Folly, If this be railing, you shall hear me rail.