Bon.  Why doe you inquire, good puff past?

Suc.  My blade Is of the Bilbo[116] mettle; at its splendor My foes does vanish.

Bon.  Ile try that presently;—­feare nothing, ladyes.

Suc.  Death! now I thinke out, I did breake my blade this morning on foure that did waylay me:  Ile goe fetch another, and then I am for you.

Crac.  Take myne, Captaine.

Suc.  Hold your peace, be wise:  that fellow
In the blew garment has a countenance
Presages losse of limme if we encounter.—­
Ile meet you presently.

Bon.  It shall not serve your turne yet:  Ile not blunt My sword upon such stock fish. Grimes, bestow Thy timber on them.

Grimes.  Come, sir. [beats them.

Suc.  Take me without a weapon? this cudgell sure
Is Crabb tree, it tasts so sourely.
          
                              [Exeunt.

Bel.  Oh, my Deare Bonvill.

Bon.  Mistrisse, I sent an advocate to plead
My guiltless cause:  you, too[117] severe a Judge
Forbad him audience; I am therefore come
Once more to prove my innocence.

Cla.  Come, without Ceremony Forgive you her and she shall pardon you Most willingly.

Bon.  Can you have soe much mercy, You soe much goodnes?

Bel.  Noe soule long tir’d with famine, whom kind death
Has new enfranchisd from the loathed flesh,
With happier expedition enters heaven
Then mine thy bosome, Bonvill.  Let our loves,
Like plants that by their cutting downe shoot up,
Straiter and taller flourish:  we are now
Inseperable.

Cla.  Your good fates, though I Repine not at them, makes my unhappy fortunes Appeare farr more disastrous.

Bon.  Whats thy misfortune?

Bel.  Alas, my mother has crost her in her affection as she did us.

Bon.  She shall
Crosse ours no more. Belisia, if youle
Be ruld by me you shall away with me;
None but you sister shall be privy to it,
And sheele keepe Councell.

Bel.  Ile goe any whither To enjoy thy presence; theres no heaven without it.

Bon.  You shalbe advertisd where she remaines, And certifie us how your mother takes it:  When we are married we shall live to thanke you.

Cla.  Will you leave me, then?

Bel.  Prethee, poore heart, lament not; we shall meet, And all these stormes blowe over.

Cla.  Your tempests past; mine now begins to rise But Ile allay its violence with my eyes.

Exeunt omnes.

Actus Quartus.

SCENE 1.

    Enter Magdalen, Timothy and Alexander.

Ma.  Run, good sweet Timothy; search the barnes, the stab[les], while I looke in the Chambers.  Should she be lost or come to any harme my lady will hang us all.  Why dost not fly?