Duke of Medina: 

      I thank ye noble Sir.

Leon: 

      To bed with him, and wife give your attendance.

      [Enter Juan.]

Juan de Castro: 

      Doctors and Surgions.

Duke of Medina: 

      Do not disquiet me,
      But let me take my leave in peace.

[Ex.  Duke, Sanchio, Alon. Marg. Servant.

Leon: 

      Afore me
      ’Tis rarely counterfeited.

Juan de Castro: 

      True, it is so Sir,
      And take you heed, this last blow do not spoil ye,
      He is not hurt, only we made a scuffle,
      As though we purpos’d anger; that same scratch
      On’s hand he took, to colour all and draw compassion,
      That he might get into your house more cunningly. 
      I must not stay, stand now, and y’are a brave fellow.

Leon: 

      I thank ye noble Coronel, and I honour ye.
          
                                                     [Exit Juan.

      Never be quiet?

      [Enter Margarita.]

Margarita: 

      He’s most desperate ill Sir,
      I do not think these ten months will recover him.

Leon: 

      Does he hire my house to play the fool in,
226] Or does it stand on Fairy ground, we are haunted,
      Are all men and their wives troubled with dreams thus?

Margarita: 

      What ail you Sir?

Leon: 

      Nay what ail you sweet wife,
      To put these daily pastimes on my patience? 
      What dost thou see in me, that I should suffer thus,
      Have not I done my part like a true Husband,
      And paid some desperate debts you never look’d for?

Margarita: 

      You have done handsomely I must confess Sir.

Leon: 

      Have I not kept thee waking like a hawk? 
      And watcht thee with delights to satisfy thee? 
      The very tithes of which had won a Widow.

Margarita: 

      Alas I pity ye.

Leon: 

      Thou wilt make me angry,
      Thou never saw’st me mad yet.

Margarita: 

      You are alwaies,
      You carry a kind of bedlam still about ye.

Leon: 

      If thou pursuest me further I run stark mad,
      If you have more hurt Dukes or Gentlemen,
      To lye here on your cure, I shall be desperate,
      I know the trick, and you shall feel I know it,
      Are ye so hot that no hedge can contain ye? 
      I’le have thee let blood in all the veins about thee,
      I’le have thy thoughts found too, and have them open’d,
      Thy spirits purg’d, for those are they that fire ye,
      Thy maid shall be thy Mistris, thou the maid,
      And all those