Jerningham. 
Raymond Mountchensey, now I touch thy grief
With the true feeling of a zealous friend. 
And as for fair and beauteous Millescent,
With my vain breath I will not seek to slubber
Her angel like perfections; but thou know’st
That Essex hath the Saint that I adore. 
Where ere did we meet thee and wanton springs,
That like a wag thou hast not laught at me,
And with regardless jesting mockt my love? 
How many a sad and weary summer night
My sighs have drunk the dew from off the earth,
And I have taught the Niting-gale to wake,
And from the meadows spring the early Lark
An hour before she should have list to sing: 
I have loaded the poor minutes with my moans,
That I have made the heavy slow passed hours
To hang like heavy clogs upon the day. 
But, dear Mountchensey, had not my affection
Seased on the beauty of another dame,
Before I would wrong the chase, and overgive love
Of one so worthy and so true a friend,
I will abjure both beauty and her sight,
And will in love become a counterfeit.

Mountchensey. 
Dear Jerningham, thou hast begot my life,
And from the mouth of hell, where now I sate,
I feel my spirit rebound against the stars: 
Thou hast conquerd me, dear friend, in my free soul;
Their time nor death can by their power controul.

Fabell. 
Franke Jerningham, thou art a gallant boy;
And were he not my pupil, I would say
He were as fine a mettled gentleman,
Of as free spirit, and of as fine a temper
As is in England; and he is a man
That very richly may deserve thy love. 
But, noble Clare, this while of our discourse,
What may Mounchensey’s honour to thy self
Exact upon the measure of thy grace?

Clare. 
Raymond Mounchensey, I would have thee know,
He does not breath this air,
Whose love I cherish, and whose soul I love
More than Mounchensey’s: 
Nor ever in my life did see the man
Whom, for his wit and many vertuous parts,
I think more worthy of my sister’s love. 
But since the matter grows unto this pass,
I must not seem to cross my Father’s will;
But when thou list to visit her by night,
My horses sadled, and the stable door
Stands ready for thee; use them at thy pleasure. 
In honest marriage wed her frankly, boy,
And if thou getst her, lad, God give thee joy!

Mountchensey. 
Then, care, away! let fates my fall pretend,
Backt with the favours of so true a friend!

Fabell. 
Let us alone, to bussell for the set;
For age and craft with wit and Art have met. 
I’ll make my spirits to dance such nightly jigs
Along the way twixt this and Totnam cross,
The Carriers jades shall cast their heavy packs,
And the strong hedges scarse shall keep them in: 
The Milk-maids Cuts shall turn the wenches off,
And lay the Dossers tumbling in the dust: 
The frank and merry London prentises,
That come for cream and lusty country cheer,
Shall lose their way; and, scrambling in the ditches,
All night shall whoop and hollow, cry and call,
Yet none to other find the way at all.