Acut.  Sirra drawer, for the other thats a sleepe; let him so remaine; for the Dog, let him be bound to a post for his appearance, till I take order for his undooing.

Draw.  The foole and the Dogge shall both take rest at your commaund, Sir.

Phy.  Gentlemen, I hope we are all friends:  sol, sol, shal’s have a catch?

Grac.  I, come, come, everie one catch a part. [Sing.

Phy.  Hey good boies ifaith, now a three man’s song, or the olde downe a downe; well things must be as they may, fils the other quart; muskadine,[269] with an egg is fine, there’s a time for all things. Bonos nocthus.[270] [Sleepe.

Grac.  Good night to you sirs.

Accut.  So now, Graccus, see what a polluted lumpe,
A deformed Chaos of unsteddy earth
Man is, being in this ill kinde unmand seeming somthing
Bestial man, brutish animall.  Well tis thus decreede,
He shall be what he seemes, that’s deade. 
For what in him shows life but a breathing ayre? 
Which by a free constraint it self ingenders
In things without life, as twixt a pair of bellowes
We feele a forcible aire, having of it self
Force and being, no more is this breathing block
But for his use in kinde.—­Give out in some bursse or congregation
Among the multitude Philautus[271] death. 
Let all the customarie rights of funerall,
His knell or what else, be solemnly observed. 
Ile take order for his winding sheete,
And further, to furnish it with further suertie,
Ile have a potion that for twentie houres
Shall quench the motion of his breath.  Goe, spread,
Let me alone to effect it.

Gra.  Ile sow it, I warrant thee; thou talkst of bursse,—­I have a way worth ten on’t, ile first give it out in my Barbers shop, then at my ordinarie, and that’s as good as abroad; and as I cross Tiber my waterman shall attach it, heele send it away with the tide, then let it come out to an Oyster wenches eare, and sheele crie it up and down the streetes.

Acut.  Let’s first secure him from eyes, and at night he shall be portered to our chamber; so, now away.

Grac.  Oh a couple that would spred rarely,[272] lets give it for loves sake.

    Enter Hostis and Cittizens wife.

Acut.  Call, call.

Grac.  Hem, hem.

Citty wife.  A pox on your hemmings, do you think we care for your hemmings?

Hostis.  Tis some stinking troublesome knave, I warrant ye.

Citty wife.  Hang him, regard him not; theres hemming indeede, like a
Cat, God blesse us, with a burre in her throate.
          
                                          [Exeunt

Grac.  S’hart, how we are ript up for this?