_Caq._ Nothing, sir; but satisfy her that the ring was not pawn'd, but only lent by you to grace my finger; and so told her I craved pardon for being too familiar, or indeed over-bold with your reputation. _Cri._ Yes, indeed, he did. He said you desired to make him any satisfaction for an uncivil discourtesy you did him last night; but he said he had you o' the hip, and would take the forfeit of your ring. _Tyse._ How now, ye base poltroon. _Caq._ Hold! hold! my mistress speaks by contraries. _Tyse._ Contraries! 200 _Caq._ She jests--faith, only jests. _Cri._ Sir, I'll no more o' your service--you are a child--I'll give you to my nurse. _Put._ And he come to me, I can tell you, as old as I am, what to do with him. _Caq._ I offer my service, forsooth. _Tyse._ Why, so: now, every dog has his bone to gnaw on. _Free._ The masque holds, Master Caqueteur. _Caq._ I am ready, sir. Mistress, I'll dance with you, ne'er fear--I'll grace you. 211 _Put._ I tell you, I can my singles and my doubles, and my trick o' twenty[60]--my carantapace--my traverse forward--and my falling back, yet, i'faith. _Bea._ Mine! The provision for the night is ours. Much must be our care; till night we leave you; I am your servant, be not tyrannous. Your virtue won me; faith, my love's not lust; Good, wrong me not; my most fault is much trust. _Free._ Until night only, my heart be with you. Farewell, sister. 221 _Cri._ Adieu, brother. Come on, sister, for these sweetmeats. _Free._ Let's meet and practise presently. _Tyse._ Content; we'll but fit our pumps. Come, ye pernicious vermin. [_Exeunt all but_ FREEVILL. _Enter_ MALHEUREUX. _Free._ My friend, wished hours! What news from Babylon? How does the woman of sin and natural concupiscence? _Mal._ The eldest child of nature ne'er beheld So damn'd a creature. 230 _Free._ What! _In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas?_ Which way bears the tide? _Mal._ Dear loved sir, I find a mind courageously vicious may be put on a desperate security; but can never be blessed with a firm enjoying and self-satisfaction. _Free._ What passion is this, my dear Lindabrides?[61] _Mal._ 'Tis well; we both may jest; I ha' been tempted to your death. _Free._ What, is the rampant cocatrice grown mad for the loss of her men? 241 _Mal._ Devilishly mad. _Free._ As most assured of my second love? _Mal._ Right. _Free._ She would have had this ring.