_Eust._ Stay gentle _Ida_, tell me what you deeme, What doth this hast, this tender heart beseeme? _Ida._ Why not my Lord, since nature teacheth art, To sencelesse beastes to cure their greeuous smart. _Dictanum_ serues to close the wound againe. _Eust._ What helpe for those that loue? _Ida._ Why loue againe. 1620 _Eust._ Were I the Hart, _Ida._ Then I the hearbe would bee. You shall not die for help, come follow me. _Exeunt._ _Enter Andrew and Iaques._ _IV. iii._ _Iaq._ _Mon Deiu_, what _malheure_ be this, me come a the chamber, Signior _Andrew_, _Mon Deiu_, taka my _poinyard en mon maine_, to giue the _Estocade_ to the _Damoisella, per ma foy, there was no person, elle cest en alle_. _And._ The woorse lucke _Iaques_, but because I am thy friend 1630 I will aduise the somewhat towards the attainement of the gallowes. _Iaq._ Gallowes, what be that? _An._ Marrie sir, a place of great promotion, where thou shalt by one turne aboue ground, rid the world of a knaue, & make a goodly ensample for all bloodie villaines of thy profession. _Que ditte vous, Monsieur Andrew?_ _And._ I say _Iaques_, thou must keep this path, and high thee, for the Q. as I am certified, is departed with her dwarfe, apparelled like a squire, ouertake her Frenchman, stab her, Ile 1640 promise thee this dubblet shall be happy. _Iaq._ _Purquoy?_ _And._ It shall serue a iolle Gentleman, Sir _Dominus Monsignior_ Hangman. _Iaq._ _Cest tout_, _vn_ me will _rama pour le monoy_. _And._ Go, and the rot consume thee? Oh what a trim world is this? My maister lius by cousoning the king, I by fllattering him: _Slipper_ my fellow by stealing: and I by lying: is not this a wylie accord, Gentlemen. This last night our iolly horsekeeper beeing well stept in licor, confessed to me the stealing of my Maisters writings, and his great reward: now dare I not 1650 bewraye him, least he discouer my knauerie, but thus haue I wrought: I vnderstand he will passe this way, to prouide him necessaries, but if I and my fellowes faile not, wee will teach him such a lesson, as shall cost him a chiefe place on pennilesse bench for his labour: but yond he comes. _Enter Slipper with a Tailor, a Shoomaker, and a Cutler._ _Slip._ Taylor. _Tayl._ Sir. _Slip._ Let my dubblet bee white Northren, fiue groates the yard, I tell thee I will bee braue. _Tayl._ It shall sir. 1660 _Slip._ Now sir, cut it me like the battlements of a Custerd, ful of round holes: edge me the sleeues with Couentry-blew, and let the lynings bee of tenpenny locorum. _Tayl._ Very good sir. _Slip._ Make it the amorous cut, a flappe before. _Tayl._ And why so? that fashion is stale.