Duke.  Will it not on?

Euph.  Not for a diadem; Ile trie no longer lest I shame my selfe.

Duke.  Try, Julia.

Ju.  My hand’s bigger then my Ladies.

Duke.  I cannot tell, but in my minde I feele A wondrous passion of I know not what.

Fre.  The imbroidered glove may be some childs, no womans.

Duke.  I should mistrust as much, but that this place Beares greater compasse then a childish hand.  I must command it.

Fre.  Willingly, my Lord.

Duke.  Then to the state-house, brothers, leade the way:  First our instalement [sic], then a funerall day.

[Exeunt Duke and brothers and Fred.

    Enter Otho.

Otho.  Yonder she goes, the mirrour of her sexe.—­ Stay, beauteous Euphrata.

Euph.  Otho! what, Julia?

Ju.  Here, madam! what’s your will?

Euph.  Call Constantine; Tell him his deare friend Otho is return’d.

Ju.  I will.

Otho.  Stay, Julia.

Euph.  Doe as I bid you, goe. [Exit Julia.

Otho.  I had rather have a word or twaine with you.

Euph.  I have heard him oft enquire for thee his friend, I have heard him sigh, I have seene him weepe for thee, Imagining some mischiefe or distresse Had falne thee since the closets separation.

Otho.—­And what a slave am I to wrong this friend!

    Enter Constantine and Julia.

Con.  Where is he?

Ju.  Here.

Con.  The welcom’st man alive.  Unkind, how couldst thou stay from me so long?

Otho.  I have bin ill at ease, pray pardon me; But I rejoyce to see my friend so well.

Euph.  Some Ladies love hath made him melancholy.

Otho.  Shee hath read the letter that I lately sent her In a pomegranat, by those words I hope.

Con.  Why speake you not? is’t love or melancholy?

Otho.  If upon love my grief is melancholy?

Con.  Ile have the best Phisitians here in Meath Assay by art to cure that maladie.

Euph.  Gainst mellancholy minds your onely Phisick
Our Saxon doctors hold that principle. 
Now I remember you did lately send me
A choice pomegranate; fetch it, Julia. 
Some of those graines well stir’d in Gascoine wine
Is present remedie.

Otho.  Madam, Ile none:  Of all fruits, that I hate.

Euph.  And commended it So highly by the messenger that brought it!

Con.  Twas well remembred, you shall take a graine.

Otho.  You will but vexe me.

Con.  So his melancholly Doth make him froward with his dearest friend.