Cass.  My Lord, your humors are most strange to us, The humble fortune of a servants life Should in your carelesse state so much displease.

Lass. Quod licet ingratum est, quod non licet acrius urit.

Flor.  Could my childes beautie moove you so, my lord, When Lawe and dutie held it in restraint, And now (they both allowe it) be neglected?

Lass.  I cannot rellish joyes that are enforst; For, were I shut in Paradice it selfe, I should as from a prison strive t’escape.

Luc.  Haplesse Luci[li]a, worst in her best estate!

Lass.  He seeke me out some unfrequented place
Free from these importunities of love,
And onelie love what mine owne fancie likes.

Luc.  O staie, my Lord.

Flor.  What meanes Earle Lassenbergh?

Cass.  Sweete Earle, be kinder.

Lass.  Let me go, I pray.

Doct.  Vat? you go leave a de Bride? tis no point good fashion; you must stay, be garr.

Lass.  Must I stay, sir?

Doct.  I spit your nose, and yet it is no violence.  I will give a de prove a dee good reason.  Reguard, Monsieur:  you no point eate a de meate to daie, you be de empty; be gar you be emptie, you be no point vel; be garr you be vere sick, you no point leave a de provision; be garr you stay, spit your nose.

Lass.  All staies have strength like to thy arguments.

Cass.  Staie, Lassenbergh.

Luc.  Deare Lord.

Flo.  Most honord Earle.

Lass.  Nothing shall hinder my resolved intent, But I will restlesse wander from the world Till I have shaken off these chaines from me.

[Exit La.

Luc.  And I will never cease to follow thee Till I have wonne thee from these unkinde thoughts.

Cass.  Haplesse Lucilia! [Exit Luc.

Flor.  Unkinde Lassenbergh!

Doct.  Be garr, dis Earle be de chollericke complection, almost skipshack, be garr:  he no point staie for one place.  Madame, me be no so laxative; mee be bound for no point moove six, seaven, five hundra yeare from you sweete sidea; be garr, me be as de fine Curianet about your vite necke; my harte be close tie to you as your fine Buske or de fine Gartra boute your fine legge.

Hans.  A good sencible Doctor; how feelinglie he talkes.

Doct.  A plage a de Marshan! blowe wind!

Han.  You need not curse him, sir; he has the stormes at Sea by this time.

Doct.  O forte bien! a good Sea-sick jeast by this faire hand:  blowe wind for mee! puh, he no come heere, Madame.

Flo.  Come, noble Earle, let your kind presence grace Our feast prepard for this obdurate Lord, And give some comfort to his sorrowfull bride Who in her pitteous teares swims after him.