Ang.  To bed, and pray then, we may have a faire end
Of our faire loves; would I [w]ere worthy of you,
Or of such parents that might give you thankes;
But I am poore in all but in your love. 
Once more, good night. Cha.  A good night t’ye, and may
The dew of sleepe fall gently on you, sweet one,
And lock up those faire lights in pleasing slumbers;
No dreames but chast and cleare attempt your fancie,
And break betimes sweet morne, I’ve lost my light else.

Ang.  Let it be ever night when I lose you.

Syl.  This Scholar never went to a Free-Schoo[le], he’s so simple

      [Enter a servant.]

Ser.  Your brother with two Gallants is at dore, Sir And they’re so violent, they’l take no denial.

Ang. this is no time of night. Cha.  Let ’em in Mistresse.

Serv.  They stay no leave; Shall I raise the house on ’m?

Cha.  Not a man, nor make no murmur of’t, I charge ye.

      Enter Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

Th’are here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me. 
How doe you brother with your curious story? 
Have you not read her yet sufficiently?

Cha.  No, brother, no, I stay yet in the Preface; The stile’s too hard for you. Eust.  I must entreat her.  Shee’s parcel of my goods. Cha.  Shee’s all when you have her.

Ang. Hold off your hands, unmannerly, rude Sir; Nor I, nor what I have depend on you.

Cha. Do, let her alone, she gives good counsel; doe not Trouble your selfe with Ladies, they are too light; Let out your land, and get a provident Steward.

Ang. I cannot love ye, let that satisfie you; Such vanities as you are to be laught at.

Eust. Nay, Then you must goe, I must claime mine owne.

Both. A way, a way with her. Cha. Let her alone,
         [She strikes off Eustace’s hat]
Pray let her alone, and take your coxcombe up: 
Let me talk civilly a while with you brother. 
It may be on some termes I may part with her.

Eust. O; is your heart come downe? what are your termes, Sir? 
Put up, put up. Cha. This is the first and cheifest,
        [Snatches away his sword.]
Let’s walk a turne; now stand off fooles, I advise ye,
Stand as far off as you would hope for mercy: 
This is the first sword yet I ever handled,
And a sword’s a beauteous thing to looke upon,
And if it hold, I shall so hunt your insolence: 
Tis sharp I’m sure, and if I put it home,
Tis ten to one I shall new pink your Sattins: 
I find I have spirit enough to dispose of it,
And will enough to make ye all examples;
Let me tosse it round, I have the full command on’t: 
Fetch me a native Fencer, I defie him;
I feele the fire of ten strong spirits in me.