_Mul._ Why, but dost hear? Bellman, rogue, rascal! God's--why, but-- [_The Constables drag away_ MULLIGRUB. _Coc._ Why, but! wha, ha, ha! excellent, excellent! ha, my fine Cocledemoy, my vintner fists. I'll make him fart crackers before I ha' done with him; to-morrow is the day of judgment. Afore the Lord God, my knavery grows unperegall;[90] 'tis time to take a nap, until half an hour hence. God give your worship music, content, and rest. [_Exit._ [88] So ed. 2.--Ed. 1. "let." [89] See note, p. 42. [Transcriber's note: Footnote [46]] [90] Unequalled. ACT V. SCENE I. _Franceschina's lodging._ _Enter_ FRANCESCHINA, Sir _LIONEL_, TYSEFEW, _with Officers_. _Fra._ You bin very velcom to mine shambra. _Sir Lio._ But, how know ye, how are ye assured, Both of the deed, and of his sure return? _Fra._ O min-here, ick sall tell you. Metre Malheureux came all bretless running a my shambra, his sword all bloudy: he tel a me he had kil Freevill, and pred a me to conceal him. Ick flatter him, bid bring monies, he should live and lie vid me. He went, whilst ick (me hope vidout sins), out of mine mush love to Freevill, betray him. 10 _Sir Lio._ Fear not, 'tis well: good works get grace for sin. [_She conceals them behind the curtain._ _Fra._ Dere, peace, rest dere; so, softly, all go in.-- De net is lay, now sal ick be revenge. If dat me knew a dog dat Freevill love, Me would puisson him; for know de deepest hell As a revenging woman's naught so fell. _Enter_ MARY FAUGH. _Mar._ Ho! Cousin Frank, the party you wot of, Master Malheureux-- _Fra._ Bid him come up, I prede. [_Cantat saltatque cum cithara._ _Enter_ MALHEUREUX. _Fra._ O min-here man, a dere liver love, 20 Mine ten tousant times velcom love! Ha! by mine trat, you bin de just--vat sall me say? Vat seet honie name sall I call you? _Mal._ Any from you Is pleasure. Come, my loving prettiness, Where's thy chamber? I long to touch your sheets. _Fra._ No, no, not yet, mine seetest soft-lipp'd love, You sall not gulp down all delights at once. Be min trat, dis all-fles-lovers, dis ravenous wenchers[91] dat sallow all down hole, vill have all at one bit; fie, fie, fie! be min fait, dey do eat comfets vid spoons. 31 No, no, I'll make you chew your pleasure vit love; De more degrees and steps, de more delight, De more endearèd is de pleasure height. _Mal._ What, you're a learn'd wanton, and proceed by art?