Lop.

     A Lawyer, that entangles all mens honesties,
     And lives like a Spider in a Cobweb lurking,
     And catching at all Flies, that pass his pit-falls? 
     Puts powder to all States, to make ’em caper? 
     Would he trust you?  Do you deserve?

     Die.

     I find, Gentlemen,
     This Cataplasm of a well cozen’d Lawyer
     Laid to my stomach, lenifies my Feaver,
     Methinks I could eat now, and walk a little.

     Bar.

     I am asham’d to feel how flat I am cheated,
     How grossly, and maliciously made a May-game,
     A damned trick; my Wife, my Wife, some Rascal: 
     My Credit, and my Wife, some lustful Villain,
     Some Bawd, some Rogue.

     Ars.

     Some crafty Fool has found ye: 
     This ’tis, Sir, to teach ye to be too busie,
     To covet all the gains, and all the rumours,
     To have a stirring Oare in all mens actions.

     Lop.

     We did this, but to vex your fine officiousness.

     Bar.

     Good yield ye, and good thank ye:  I am fooled, Gentlemen;
     The Lawyer is an Ass, I do confess it,
     A weak dull shallow Ass:  good even to your Worships: 
     Vicar, remember Vicar, Rascal, remember,
     Thou notable rich Rascal.

     Die.

I do remember, Sir,
’Pray ye stay a little, I have ev’n two Legacies
To make your mouth up, Sir.

Bar.

Remember Varlets,
Quake and remember, Rogues;
I have brine for your Buttocks.

[Exit.

Lop.

Oh how he frets, and fumes now like a Dunghil!

Die.

His gall contains fine stuff now to make poysons,
Rare damned stuff.

     Ars.

     Let’s after him, and still vex him,
     And take my Friend off:  by this time he has prosper’d,
     He cannot lose this dear time:  ’tis impossible.

     Mil.

     Well Diego, thou hast done.

     Lop.

     Hast done it daintily.

     Mil.

     And shalt be as well paid, Boy—­

     Ars.

     Go, let’s crucifie him.

[Exeunt.

     SCENA VI.

     Enter Amaranta, Leandro.

     Lean.

     I have told ye all my story, and how desperately.

     Ama.

     I do believe:  let’s walk on, time is pretious,
     Not to be spent in words, here no more wooing,
     The open Air’s an enemy to Lovers,
     Do as I tell ye.

     Lean.

     I’le do any thing,
     I am so over-[joy’d], I’le fly to serve ye.

     Am.