Hostis.  You can resolve us, sir; we heare of great revels to be at Court shortly.

Grac.  The marriage of Lentulus and the Orator:  verie true.

Hostis.  Might not a company of Wives be beholding to thee for places, that would be there without their husbands knowledge, if neede were?

Grac.  A moitie of friendship that, ile place ye where ye shall sit and see all.

Cittie wife.  Sit? nay, if there were but good standinges, we care not.

Acu.  S’foot, Graccus, we tarrie too long, I feare; the houre wil overtake us, tarrie thou and invite the Guests, and Ile goe see his course mounted.

Grac.  About it.

[Exit[305] Acutus.

Hostis.  Whether goes that gentleman?

Grac.  About a needeful trouble; this gentleman
Hath, at the charges of his charitie,
Preparde to inter a friend of his,
Though lately entertaind a friend of yours,
Acquaintance to you all, Philautus; and would desire
You would with him accompany his ghost
To funerall, which will be presently on his journey.

Cittie wife.  Of his charge? dyed he not able to purchase a Winding sheete?

Grac.  Twere sinne to wrong the dead; you shall heare the inventorie of his pocket.

  Imprimis, brush and a Combe o o v.d. 
  Item, a looking Glasse o o i.d.ob. 
  Item, A case of Tobacco Pipes o o iiij.d. 
  Item, Tobacco, halfe an ounz o o vj.d. 
  Item, in money and golde o o iij.d.
          Summa totalis. xix d. halfe penny.

Hostis.  What was his suite worth?

Grac.  His sute was colde, because not his owne, and the owner caused it to be restored as part of recompence, having lost the principall.

    Re-enter[306] Acutus.

Acut.  What, are they readie? the Corse is on his journey hetherwards.

Grac.  Tush, two womens tungs give as loud report as a campe royall of double cannons.

    Enter Host, Cornutus.

Host.  Tut, tut, thou art welcom; Cornutus is my neighbour, I love him as my self.  Tha’st a shrowe to thy wife, gave her tongue to [sic] much string, but let mine Host give thee counsell, heele teach thee a remedie.

Cornu.  No, no, my good Host; mum, mum, no words against my wife; shee’s mine owne, one flesh, & one blood.  I shall feele her hurt, her tongue is her owne, so are her hands; mum, mum, no words against your wife.

Host.  Tut, tut, thou art a foole, keepe her close from the poticarie, let her taste of no licoras, twill make her long winded; no plums, nor no parseneps, no peares, nor no Popperins, sheele dreame in her sleep then; let her live vpon Hasels, give her nuts for her dyet, while a toothe’s in her head, give her cheese for disgestion,[307] twil make her short winded; if that will not serve, set fire to the pan and blow her up with Gun-powder.