[Exeunt omnes.

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter Lady, her Sister_ Martha, Welford, Younglove, and others.

Lady.  Sir, now you see your bad lodging, I must bid you good night.

Wel.  Lady if there be any want, ’tis in want of you.

Lady.  A little sleep will ease that complement.  Once more good night.

Wel.  Once more dear Lady, and then all sweet nights.

Lady.  Dear Sir be short and sweet then.

Wel.  Shall the morrow prove better to me, shall I hope my sute happier by this nights rest?

Lady.  Is your sute so sickly that rest will help it?  Pray ye let it rest then till I call for it.  Sir as a stranger you have had all my welcome:  but had I known your errand ere you came, your passage had been straiter.  Sir, good night.

Welford.  So fair, and cruel, dear unkind good night. [Exit Lady.  Nay Sir, you shall stay with me, I’le press your zeal so far.

Roger.  O Lord Sir.

Wel.  Do you love Tobacco?

Rog.  Surely I love it, but it loves not me; yet with your reverence I’le be bold.

Wel.  Pray light it Sir.  How do you like it?

Rog.  I promise you it is notable stinging geer indeed.  It is wet Sir, Lord how it brings down Rheum!

Wel.  Handle it again Sir, you have a warm text of it.

Rog.  Thanks ever promised for it.  I promise you it is very powerful, and by a Trope, spiritual; for certainly it moves in sundry places.

Wel.  I, it does so Sir, and me especially to ask Sir, why you wear a Night-cap.

Rog.  Assuredly I will speak the truth unto you:  you shall understand Sir, that my head is broken, and by whom; even by that visible beast the Butler.

Wel.  The Butler? certainly he had all his drink about him when he did it.  Strike one of your grave Cassock?  The offence Sir?

Rog.  Reproving him at Tra-trip Sir, for swearing; you have the total surely.

Wel.  You told him when his rage was set a tilt, and so he crackt your Canons.  I hope he has not hurt your gentle reading:  But shall we see these Gentlewomen to night.

Rog.  Have patience Sir until our fellow Nicholas be deceast, that is, asleep:  for so the word is taken:  to sleep to dye, to dye to sleep, a very figure Sir.

Wel.  Cannot you cast another for the Gentlewomen?

Rog.  Not till the man be in his bed, his grave:  his grave, his bed:  the very same again Sir.  Our Comick Poet gives the reason sweetly; Plenus rimarum est, he is full of loope-holes, and will discover to our Patroness.

Wel.  Your comment Sir has made me understand you.

Enter Martha the Ladies Sister, and Younglove, to them with a Posset.