Ia.  O wise Knight!

Goos.  I never innd in the Towne but once, and then they lodged me in a Chamber so full of these Ridiculous Fleas, that I was fain to lie standing all night, and yet I made my man rise, and put out the Candle too, because they should not see to bite me.

Foul.  A pretty project.

Bul.  Intruth Captaine, if I might advise you, you should tarry, and take the morning afore you.

Foul.  How? O mon Dieu! how the villaine poultroune, dishonours his travaile!  You Buffonly Mouchroun, are you so mere rude, and English to advise your Captaine?

Rud.  Nay, I prethee Fouleweather, be not tempesteous with thy poore Lacquay.

Foul.  Tempesteous, Sir Cutt? will your Frenchman, thinke you, suffer his Lacquay to advise him?

Goos.  O God you must take heed Lacquy how you advise your Captaine; your French lacquay would not have done it.

Foul.  He would have bin poxt first. Allume le torche, sweet Pages commend us to your Ladies, say we kisse their white hands, and will not faile to meete them; Knights, which of you leades?

Goos.  Not wee, sir; you are a Captaine, and a leader.

Rud.  Besides, thou art commended for the better man, for thou art very Commendations it selfe, and Captaine Commendations.

Foul.  Why? what tho I be Captain Commendations?

Rud.  Why and Captaine Commendations, is harty commendations, for Captaines are harty I am sure, or else hang them.

Foul.  Why, what if I be harty Commendations? come, come, sweete Knights, lead the way.

Rud.  O Lorde Sir, alwayes after my harty Commendations.

Foul.  Nay then you conquer me with precedent, by the autenticall forme of all Iustice letters.
                                        [Alloun.  Exeunt.

Ia.  Here’s a most sweet Gudgeon swallowed, is there not?

Will.  I but how will they disgest it, thinkest thou when they shall finde our Ladies not there?

Ia.  I have a vaunt-currying[11] devise shall make them digest it most healthfully.

[Exeunt.

SCENA QUARTA.

    Enter Clarence, Musicians.

Cla.  Worke on, sweet love; I am not yet resolved
T’exhaust this troubled spring of vanities
And Nurse of perturbations, my poore life,
And therefore since in every man that holds
This being deare, there must be some desire,
Whose power t’enjoy his object may so maske
The judging part, that in her radyant eyes
His estimation of the World may seeme
Vpright, and worthy, I have chosen love
To blind my Reason with his misty hands
And make my estimative power beleive
I have a project worthy to imploy
What worth so ever my whole man affordes: 
Then sit at rest, my soule, thou now hast found
The end of thy infusion; in the eyes
Of thy divine Eugenia looke for Heaven. 
Thanks gentle friends. [A song to the Violls. 
Is your good Lord, and mine, gon up to bedd yet?