Ri.  What?

Do.  Make urine, Sir.

Tho.  I heard my Ladie has an excellent Receit to cure the Stone; she is a peece Of a rare Surgeon.

Ri.  Well, away and get the horses readie, sirra, For I shall ride you and your witt together.

Tho.  Alas, any foole may ride me, but I would faine see any man ride Mistres Dorothy.

Do.  How, sirra?
                                 [Exit Thomas.

Ri.  I am sorry I must leave such a Companion. 
But more lament the cause.  I wish him health;
My presence cannot serve him.  Morrow, wife: 
I cannot lose my sport. [Exit.

Do.  Nor shee when you are gone.  My Lady does expect another hunt’s up.

La.  Now I must trust thy secresie.

Do.  You shall not doubt me, Madam, and t’assure you
My faith, I have a suit to your Ladiship
Whose grant, were there no other bonds upon me,
Would tye me everlastinglie to silence.

La.  What ist? but name, and I shall soone confirme thee.

Do.  Our Captaine o’th traind band has been offring
To chaffer Maidenheads with me.  I must
Confesse I can affect the foole upon
Good tearmes, and could devise a plott to noose
My amorous woodcock, if you privatlie
Assist me and dare trust me with some Jewell
Of price, that is not knowne, which shalbe faithfully
Restor’d Madam.

La.  I that dare trust my honour with thee sha’not
Suspect thy faith in any treasure else. 
But prethe draw the Curtains close, while I
Expect this friend:  I needes must hide my blushes. 
Thou maist discover from the Gallory windowe
When they are hors’d.  I tremble to consider
What I have promis’d.

Do.  Tremble to meet a Ghost! 
You are more fearefull then a Virgin, Madam. 
Why this setts me a longing; but ile watch: 
This is the timerous world of flesh and blood.
          
                             [Exit.

Enter Sir Richard.

La. within.  Alas! 
What doe you meane? retire for heavens sake! 
My husband is not gone, I heare his voice yet;
This rashnes will undoe my fame for ever
Should he returne.

Ri.  How’s this? 
“Returne for heavens sake! my husband is not gone: 
I heard his voice; this will undoe my fame!”
It was my wife, and this is sure my bed chamber.

La. (looking forth.) I have undone my selfe; it is my husband.

Ri.  My forehead sweats:  Where are you, Madam? 
Whome did you talke too or take me for? ha!  Asleepe
Alreadie, or doe I dreame?  I am all wonder. 
Madam,—­

La.  You may kill him and please you, sweet heart; I cannot abide a Blackamore.

Ri.  How’s this, wife?

La.  Helpe, helpe, deare husband, strangle him with one Of my Lute strings; doe, doe, doe.