 | The Maid in the Mill |  |
Actus tertius.
Scæna Prima.
Enter Julio and Franio.Fra.
My Lord, my Lord, your house hath injur'd me,
Rob'd me of all the joyes I had on earth.
Jul.
Where wert thou brought up (fellow)?
Fra.
In a Mill.
You may perceive it by my loud exclaims,
Which must rise higher yet.
Jul.
Obstreperous Carle.
If thy throats tempest could ore-turn my house,
What satisfaction were it for thy child?
Turn thee the right way to thy journies end.
Wilt have her where she is not?
Fra.
Here was she lost,
And here must I begin my footing after;
From whence, untill I meet a pow'r to punish,
I will not rest: You are not quick to grief,
Your hearing's a dead sense. Were yours the losse,
Had you a daughter stoln, perhaps be-whor'd.
(For to what other end should come the thiefe)?
You'ld play the Miller then, be loud and high.
But being not a sorrow of your own,
You have no help nor pitie for another,
Jul.
Oh, thou hast op'd a sluce was long shut up,
And let a flood of grief in; a buried grief
Thy voice hath wak'd again: a grief as old
As likely t'is, thy child is; friend, I tell thee,
I did once lose a daughter.
Fra.
Did you Sir?
Beseech you then, how did you bear her lesse?
10
With thy grief trebled,
Fra.
But was she stolne from you?
Jul.
Yes, by devouring theeves, from whom cannot
Ever returne a satisfaction:
The wild beasts had her in her swathing clothes.
Fra.
Oh much good do'em with her.
Jul.
Away tough churle.
Fra.
Why, she was better eaten then my child,
Better by beasts then beastly men devoured,
They took away a life, no honour from her:
Those beasts might make a Saint of her, but these
Will make my child a devil: but was she, Sir,
Your onely daughter?
Enter Gillian.
Jul.
I ne'r had other (Friend)
Gil.
Where are you (man?) your busines lies not here,
Your daughter's in the Pownd, I have found where.
'Twill cost you deer her freedom.
Fra.
I'll break it down,
And free her without pay:
Horse-locks nor chains shall hold her from me.
Jul.
I'll take this relief,
I now have time to speak alone with grief.
Exit.
Fra.
How? my Land-lord? hee's Lord of my Lands
But not my Cattel: I'll have her again (Gill)
Gil.
You are not mad upon the sudden now.
Fr.
No Gill, I have been mad these five hours:
I'll sell my Mill, and buy a Roring,
I'll batter down his house, and make a Stewes on't,
Gill.
Will you gather up your wits a little
And hear me? the King's neer by in progresse,
Here I have got our supplication drawn,
And there's the way to help us.
Fra.
Give it me (Gill,)
I will not fear to give it to the King:
To his own hands (God blesse him) will I give it,
And he shall set the Law upon their shoulders,
And hang 'em all that had a hand in it.
Gill.
Where's your Son?
Fra.
He shall be hang'd in flotches:
The dogs shall eat him in Lent, there's Cats meat
And Dogs-meat enough about him.
Gill.
Sure the poor girle is the Counts whore by this time.
Fra.
If she be the Counts whore, the whores Count
Shall pay for it: He shall pay for a new Maiden-head.
Gil.
You are so violous: this I'm resolv'd,
If she be a whore once, I'll renounce her,
You know, if every man had his right,
She's none of our child, but a meer foundling,
(And I can guesse the owner for a need too)
We have but fosterd her.
Fra.
Gill, no more of that,
I'll cut your tongue out if you tell those tales.
Hark, hark, these Toaters tell us the King's coming:
Get you gone; I'll see if I can find him.
Exeunt.
Enter Lisauro, Tersa, Pedro and Moncado.
Lis.
Do's the King remove to day?
Ter.
So saies the Harbengers,
And keeps his way on to Valentia,
There ends the progresse.
Ped.
He hunts this morning Gentlemen,
And dines i'th' fields: the Court is all in readinesse.
Lis.
Pedro, did you send for this Tailor? or you Moncado?
This light french-demi launce that follows us.
Ped.
No, I assure ye on my word, I am guiltlesse,
I owe him too much to be inward with him.
Mon.
I am not quit I am sure: there is a reckoning
Of some four scarlet cloaks, and two lac'd suits
Hangs on the file still, like a fearful Comet
Makes me keep off.
Lis.
I am in too Gentlemen,
I thank his faith, for a matter of three hundred.
Ter.
And I for two, what a devil makes he this way?
I do not love to see my sins before me.
Ped.
'Tis the vacation, and these things break out
To see the Court, and glory in their debtors.
Ter.
What do you call him for? I never love
To remember their names that I owe money to,
'Tis not gentill, I shun'em like the plague ever.
Lis.
His name's Vertigo: hold your heads, and wonder,
A French-man, and a founder of new fashions:
The Revolutions of all shapes and habits
Run madding through his brains.
Ent. Vertigo.
Monc.
He is very brave.
Lis.
The shreds of what he steals from us beleeve it,
Makes him a mighty man: he comes, have at ye.
Ver.
Save ye together, my sweet Gentlemen,
I have been looking—
Ter.
Not for money Sir?
You know the hard time.
Ver.
Pardon me sweet (Signior)
Good faith the least thought in my heart, your love Gentlemen,
Your love's enough for me: Money? hang money:
Let me preserve your love.
Lis.
Yes marry shall ye,
And we our credit, you would see the Court?
Mon.
He shall see every place.
Ver.
Shall I i'faith Gentlemen?
Ped.
The Cellar, and the Buttry, and the Kitchin,
The Pastry, and the Pantry.
Ter.
I, and taste too
Of every Office: and be free of all too:
That he may say when he comes home in glory,
Ver.
And I will say, i'faith, and say it openly,
And say it home too: Shall I see the King also?
Lis.
Shalt see him every day: shalt see the Ladies
In their French clothes: shalt ride a hunting with him,
Shalt have a Mistris too: we must fool hansomly
To keep him in belief, we honour him,
He may call on us else.
Ped.
A pox upon him.
Let him call at home in's owne house for salt butter,
Ver.
And when the King puts on a new suit.
Ter.
Thou shalt see it first,
And desect his dublets, that thou maist be perfect.
Ver.
The Wardrobe I would fain view, Gentlemen,
Fain come to see the Wardrobe.
Lis.
Thou shalt see it,
And see the secret of it, dive into it:
Sleep in the Wardrobe, and have Revelations
Of fashions five yeer hence.
Ver.
Ye honour me;
Ye infinitely honour me.
Ter.
Any thing i'th' Court Sir,
Or within the compasse of a Courtier,
Ver.
My wife shall give ye thanks.
Ter.
You shall see any thing,
The privatst place, the stool, and where 'tis emptied.
Ver.
Ye make me blush, ye pour your bounties, Gentlemen,
In such abundance.
Lis.
I will show thee presently
The order that the King keeps when he comes
11
Over a shoulder of mutton, thou hast seen somthing,
Nay, thou shalt present the King for this time.
Ver.
Nay, I pray Sir.
Lis.
That thou maist know what State there do's belong to it;
Stand there I say, and put on a sad countenance,
Mingled with height: be cover'd, and reserved;
Move like the Sun, by soft degrees, and glorious,
Into your order (Gentlemen) uncover'd,
The King appears; Wee'l sport with you a while Sir,
I am sure you are merry with us all the year long (Tailor)
Move softer still, keep in that fencing leg; Monsieur,
Turne to no side.
Enter Franio out of breath.
Ter.
What's this that appears to him?
Lis.
'Has a petition, and he looks most lamentably,
Mistake him, and we are made.
Fra.
This is the King sure,
The glorious King, I know him by his gay clothes.
Lis.
Now bear your self that you may say hereafter.
Fra.
I have recover'd breath, I'll speak unto him presently,
May it please your gracious majesty to consider
A poor mans case?
King.
What's your will Sir?
Lis.
You must accept, and read it.
Ter.
The Tailor will run mad upon my life for't.
Ped.
How he mumps and bridles: he will ne'er cut clothes again.
Ver.
And what's your grief?
Mon.
He speaks i'th' nose like his goose.
Fra.
I pray you read there; I am abus'd, and frumpt Sir,
By a great man that may do ill by authority;
Poor honest men are hang'd for doing lesse Sir,
My child is stolne, the Count Otrante stole her;
A pretty child she is, although I say it,
A hansom mother, he means to make a whore of her,
A silken whore, his knaves have filch'd her from me;
He keeps lewd knaves, that do him beastly offices:
I kneel for Justice. Shall I have it Sir?
Enter King Philippo, and Lords.
Phil.
What Pageant's this?
Lis.
The King:
Tailor, stand off, here ends your apparition:
Miller, turn round, and there addresse your paper,
There, there's the King indeed.
Fra.
May it please your Majesty.
Phil.
Why didst thou kneel to that fellow?
Fra.
In good faith Sir,
I thought he had been a King he was so gallant:
There's none here wears such gold.
Phil.
So foolishly,
You have golden busines sure; because I am homely
Clad, in no glittring suit, I'am not look'd on:
Ye fools that wear gay clothes love to be gap'd at,
What are you better when your end calls on you?
Will gold preserve ye from the grave? or jewells?
Get golden minds, and fling away your Trappings
Unto your bodies, minister warm rayments,
Wholsom and good; glitter within and spare not:
Let my Court have rich souls, their suits I weigh not:
And what are you that took such State upon ye?
Are ye a Prince?
Lis.
The Prince of Tailors, Sir,
We owe some money to him, and 't like your Majesty.
Phil.
If it like him, would ye owde more, be modester,
And you lesse sawcy Sir: and leave this place:
Your pressing iron will make no perfect Courtier:
Go stitch at home, and cozen your poor neighbours,
Show such another pride, I'll have ye whipt for't,
And get worse clothes, these but proclaim your fellony.
And what's your paper?
Fra.
I beseech you read it.
Phil.
What's here? the Count Otrante task'd for a base villany,
For stealing of a maid?
Lord.
The Count Otrante?
Is not the fellow mad Sir?
Fra.
No, no, my Lord,
I am in my wits, I am a labouring man,
And we have seldom leisure to run mad,
We have other businesse to employ our heads in,
We have little wit to lose too: if we complain,
And if a heavie lord lie on our shoulders,
Worse then a sack of meal, and oppresse our poverties,
We are mad straight, and whop'd, and tyde in fetters,
Able to make a horse mad as you use us,
You are mad for nothing, and no man dare proclaim it,
In you a wildnesse is a noble trick,
And cherishd in ye, and all men must love it:
Oppressions of all sorts, sit like new clothes,
Neatly and hansomly upon your Lordships:
And if we kick when your honours spur us,
We are knaves and Jades, and ready for the Justice.
I am a true Miller.
Phil.
Then thou art a wonder.
2 L.
I know the man reputed for a good man
An honest and substantial fellow.
Phil.
He speaks sence,
And to the point: Greatnesse begets much rudenesse.
How dare you (Sirrha) 'gainst so main a person,
A man of so much Noble note and honour,
Put up this base complaint? Must every Pesant
Upon a sawcy will affront great Lords!
All fellows (Miller?)
Fra.
I have my reward, Sir,
I was told one greatnesse would protect another,
As beams support their fellowes; now I find it:
If't please your Grace to have me hang'd, I am ready,
'Tis but a Miller, and a Thief dispatch'd:
Though I steal bread, I steal no flesh to tempt me.
I have a wife, and 't please him to have her too,
With all my heart; 't will make my charge the lesse Sir,
She'll hold him play a while: I have a Boy too,
He is able to instruct his Honours hoggs,
Or rub his Horse-heels: when it please his Lordship
He may make him his slave too, or his bawd:
The boy is well bred, can exhort his Sister:
For me, the prison, or the Pillory,
To lose my goods, and have mine ears cropt off:
Whipt like a Topp, and have a paper stuck before me,
For abominable honestie to his owne daughter,
I can endure, Sir: the Miller has a stout heart,
Tough as his Toal-pin.
Phil.
I suspect this shrewdly,
Is it his daughter that the people call
The Millers fair maid?
2 Lo.
It should seem so Sir.
Phil.
Be sure you be i'th' right, Sirrha.
Fra.
If I be i'th' wrong Sir,
Be sure you hang me, I will ask no curtesie:
Your Grace may have a daughter, think of that Sir,
She may be fair, and she may be abused too:
A King is not exempted from these cases:
Stolne from your loving care.
12
I do much pity him.
Fra.
But heaven forbid she should be in that venture
That mine is in at this hour: I'll assure your Grace
The Lord wants a water-mill, & means to grind with her
Would I had his stones to set, I would fit him for it.
Phil.
Follow me (Miller) and let me talk with ye farther,
And keep this private all upon your loyalties:
To morrow morning, though I am now beyond him,
And the lesse lookt for, I'll break my fast with good Count.
No more, away, all to our sports, be silent.
Exeunt.
Ver.
What Grace shall I have now?
Lis.
Choose thine owne grace,
And go to dinner when thou wilt, Vertigo,
We must needs follow the King.
Ter.
You heard the sentence.
Mon.
If you stay here
I'll send thee a shoulder of Venison:
Go home, go home, or if thou wilt disguise,
I'll help thee to a place to feed the dogs.
Ped.
Or thou shalt be special Tailor to the Kings Monkey,
'Tis a fine place, we cannot stay.
Ver.
No money,
Nor no grace (Gentlemen?)
Ter.
'Tis too early Taylor.
The King has not broke his fast yet.
Ver.
I shall look for ye
The next Terme, Gentlemen.
Ped.
Thou shalt not misse us:
Prethee provide some clothes, and dost thou hear Vertigo,
Commend me to thy wife: I want some shirts too.
Ver.
I have Chambers for ye all.
Lis.
They are too musty,
When they are cleer wee'l come.
Ver.
I must be patient
And provident, I shall never get home els.
Exeunt.
Scæna Secunda.
Enter Otrante and Florimell.Otr.
Prethee be wiser wench, thou canst not scape me,
Let me with love and gentlenesse enjoy that
That may be still preserv'd with love, and long'd for,
If violence lay rough hold, I shall hate thee,
And after I have enjoyd thy Maiden-head,
Thou wilt appear so stale and ugly to me
I shall despise thee, cast thee off.
Flor.
I pray ye, Sir,
Begin it now, and open your dores to me,
I do confesse I am ugly; Let me go, Sir:
A Gipsey-girl: Why would your Lordship touch me?
Fye, 'tis not noble: I am homely bred,
Course, and unfit for you: why do you flatter me?
There be young Ladies, many that will love ye,
That will dote on ye: you are a hansome Gentleman,
What will they say when once they know your quality?
A Lord, a Miller? take your Toal-dish with ye:
You that can deal with Gudgins, and course floure,
'Tis pitie you should taste what manchet means:
Is this fit Sir, for your repute and honour?
Otr.
I'll love thee still.
Flo.
You cannot, there's no sympathy
Between our births, our breeding, arts, conditions,
And where these are at difference, there's no liking:
This houre if may be I seem hansom to you,
And you are taken with variety
More then with beauty: to morrow when you have enjoy'd me,
Your heate and lust asswag'd, and come to examine
Out of cold and penitent condition
What you have done, whom you have shar'd your love with,
Made partner of your bed, how it will vex ye,
How you will curse the devil that betrayd ye:
And what shall become of me then?
Otr.
Wilt thou hear me?
Flo.
As hastie as you were then to enjoy me,
As precious as this beauty shew'd unto ye,
You'll kick me out of dores, you will whore and ban me:
And if I prove with child with your fair issue,
Give me a pension of five pound a yeer
To breed your heir withall, and so good speed me.
Otr.
I'll keep thee like a woman.
Flo.
I'll keep my self Sir,
Keep my self honest Sir; there's the brave keeping:
If you will marry me.
Otr.
Alas poor Florimell.
Flo.
I do confesse I am too course and base Sir
To be your wife, and it is fit you scorn me,
Yet such as I have crown'd the lives of great ones:
To be your whore, I am sure I am too worthy,
(For by my troth Sir, I am truly honest)
And that's an honour equal to your greatnes.
Otr.
I'll give thee what thou wilt.
Flo.
Tempt me no more then:
Give me that peace, and then you give abundance,
I know ye do but try me, ye are noble,
All these are but to try my modestie,
If you should find me easie, and once coming,
I see your eies already how they would fright me:
I see your honest heart how it would swell
And burst it self into a grief against me:
Your tongue in noble anger, now, even now Sir,
Ready to rip my loose thoughts to the bottom,
And lay my shame unto my self, wide open:
You are a noble Lord: you pity poor maids,
The people are mistaken in your courses:
You, like a father, try 'em to the uttermost,
As they do gold: you purge the drosse from them,
And make them shine.
Otr.
This cunning cannot help ye:
I love ye to enjoy ye: I have stolne ye
To enjoy ye now, not to be fool'd with circumstance,
Yeeld willingly, or else.
Flo.
What?
Otr.
I will force ye.
I will not be delay'd, a poor base wench
That I in curtesie make offer to,
Argue with me?
Flo.
Do not, you will lose your labour,
Do not (my Lord) it will become ye poorly
Your curtesie may do much on my nature,
For I am kind as you are, and as tender:
If you compell, I have my strengths to fly to,
My honest thoughts, and those are guards about me:
I can cry too, and noise enough I dare make,
And I have curses, that will call down thunder,
For all I am a poor wench, heaven will hear me:
My body you may force, but my will never;
And be sure I do not live if you do force me,
Or have no tongue to tell your beastly Story,
For if I have, and if there be a Justice.
Otr.
Pray ye go in here: I'll calme my self for this time.
13
Flo.
I am commanded.
Exit.
Otr.
You cannot scape me, yet I must enjoy ye,
I'll lie with thy wit, though I misse thy honesty:
Is this a wench for a Boors hungry bosom?
A morsel for a Peasants base embraces?
And must I starve, and the meat in my mouth?
I'll none of that.
Enter Gerasto.
Ger.
How now my Lord, how sped ye?
Have ye done the deed?
Otr.
No, pox upon't, she is honest.
Ger.
Honest? what's that? you take her bare deniall,
Was there ever wench brought up in a mill, and honest?
That were a wonder worth a Chronicle,
Is your belief so large? what did she say to ye?
Otr.
She said her honesty was all her dowry,
And preach'd unto me, how unfit, and homely,
Nay how dishonourable it would seem in me
To act my will; popt me i'th mouth with modestie.
Ger.
What an impudent Quean was that? that's their trick ever.
Otr.
And then discours'd to me very learnedly
What fame and loud opinion would tell of me:
A wife she touch'd at.
Ger.
Out upon her Varlet.
Was she so bold? these home spun things are devils,
They'll tell ye a thousand lies, if you'll beleeve 'em;
And stand upon their honours like great Ladies,
They'll speak unhappily too: good words to cozen ye,
And outwardly seem Saints: they'll cry down-right also,
But 'tis for anger that you do not crush 'em.
Did she not talk of being with child?
Otr.
She toucht at it,
Ger.
The trick of an arrant whore to milk your Lordship
And then a pension nam'd?
Otr.
No, no, she scorn'd it:
I offer'd any thing, but she refus'd all,
Refus'd it with a confident hate.
Ger.
You thought so,
You should have taken her then, turn'd her, and tew'd her
I'th' strength of all her resolution, flattered her,
And shak't her stubborn will: she would have thank'd ye,
She would have lov'd ye infinitely, they must seem modest,
It is their parts: if you had plaid your part Sir.
And handled her as men do unmand Hawks,
Cast her, and malde her up in good clean linnen:
And there have coyed her, you had caught her heart-strings
These tough Virginities they blow like white thornes
In Stormes and Tempests.
Otr.
She is beyond all this,
As cold, and harden'd, as the Virgin Crystal.
Ger.
Oh force her, force her, Sir, she longs to be ravishd
Some have no pleasure but in violence;
To be torne in pieces is their paradise:
'Tis ordinary in our Country, Sir, to ravish all
They will not give a penny for their sport
Unlesse they be put to it, and terribly,
And then they swear they'll hang the man comes neer'em,
And swear it on his lips too.
Otr.
No, no forcing,
I have an other course, and I will follow it,
I command you, and do you command your fellows,
That when you see her next, disgrace, and scorn her,
Ill seem to put her out o'th' dores o'th' sodain
And leave her to conjecture, then seize on her
Away, be ready straight.
Ger.
We shall not fail, Sir.
Exit.
Otr.
Florimell.
Enter Florimell.
Flo.
My Lord.
Otr.
I am sure you have now consider'd
And like a wise wench weigh'd a friends displeasure,
Repented your prowd thoughts, and cast your scorn off.
Flo.
My Lord, I am not proud, I was never beautifull.
Nor scorn I any thing that's just and honest.
Otr.
Come, to be short, can ye love yet? you told me
Kindnes would far compell ye: I am kind to ye,
And mean to exceed that way.
Flo.
I told ye too, Sir,
As far as it agreed with modestie,
With honour, and with honesty I would yeeld to yee:
Good my Lord, take some other Theam: for Love,
Alas, I never knew yet what it meant,
And on the sudden Sir, to run through volumes
Of his most mystick art, 'tis most impossible;
Nay, to begin with lust, which is an Herisie,
A foul one too: to learn that in my childhood:
O good my Lord.
Otr.
You will not out of this song,
Your modestie, and honestie, is that all?
I will not force ye.
Flo.
Ye are too noble, Sir.
Otr.
Nor play the childish fool, and marry ye,
I am yet not mad.
Flo.
If ye did, men would imagine.
Otr.
Nor will I woo ye at that infinite price
It may be you expect.
Flo.
I expect your pardon,
And a discharge (my Lord) that's all I look for.
Otr.
No, nor fall sick for love.
Flo.
'Tis a healthful year Sir.
Otr.
Look ye, I'l turn ye out o'dores, and scorn ye.
Flo.
Thank ye my Lord.
Otr.
A proud slight Peat I found ye,
A fool (it may be too.)
Flo.
An honest woman,
Good my Lord think me.
Otr.
And a base I leave ye,
So fare-ye-well.
Exit.
Flo.
Blessing attend your Lordship;
This is hot love, that vanisheth like vapors;
His Ague's off, his burning fits are well quench'd,
I thank heaven for't: his men, they will not force me.
Enter Gerasto, and Servants.
Ger.
What dost thou stay for? dost thou not know the way,
Thou base unprovident whore?
Flo.
Good words, pray ye Gentlemen.
1 Ser.
Has my Lord smoak'd ye over, good wife Miller?
Is your Mill broken that you stand so uselesse?
2 Ser.
An impudent Quean, upon my life she is unwholsome;
Some base discarded thing my Lord has found her,
He would not have turnd her off o'th' sudden else.
Ger.
Now against every sack (my honest sweet-heart)
With every Sim and Smug.
Flo.
I must be patient.
Ger.
And every greasie guest, and sweaty Rascall
For his Royal hire between his fingers, Gentlewoman.
1 Ser.
I feare thou hast given my Lord the—thou damn'd thing.
2 Ser.
I have seen her in the Stewes.
Ger.
The knave her father
14
You must even to it again: a modest function.
Flo.
If ye had honesty ye would not use me
Thus basely wretchedly, though your Lord bid ye,
But he that knows.
Ger.
Away thou carted impudence,
You meat for every man: a little meal
Flung in your face, makes ye appear so proud.
Flo.
This is inhumane. Let these tears perswade you
If ye be men, to use a poor girle better:
I wrong not you, I am sure I call you Gentlemen.
Enter Otrante.
Otr.
What busines is here? away, are not you gone yet?
Flo.
My Lord, this is no: well: although you hate me,
For what I know not: to let your people wrong me,
Wrong me maliciously, and call me
Otr.
Peace,
And mark me what we say advisedly;
Mark, as you love that that you call your credit;
Yeeld now, or you are undone: your good name's perish'd
Not all the world can buy your reputation;
Tis sunk for ever els, these peoples tongues will poison ye
Though you be white as innocence, they'll taint ye,
They will speak terrible and hideous things,
And people in this age are prone to credit,
They'll let fall nothing that may brand a woman,
Consider this, and then be wise and tremble:
Yeeld yet, and yet I'll save ye.
Flo.
How?
Otr.
I'll show ye,
Their mouthes I'll seal up, they shall speak no more
But what is honourable and honest of ye,
And Saintlike they shall worship ye: they are mine,
And what I charge 'em Florimell.
Flo.
I am ruind,
Heaven will regard me yet, they are barbarous wretches:
Let me not fall (my Lord.)
Otr.
You shall not Florimell:
Mark how I'll work your peice, and how I honour ye.
Who waits there? come all in.
Enter Gerasto and Servants.
Ger.
Your pleasure Sir.
Otr.
Who dare say this sweet beauty is not heavenly?
This virgin, the most pure, the most untainted,
The holiest thing?
Ger.
We know it (my dear Lord)
We are her slaves: and that proud impudence
That dares disparage her, this sword (my Lord.)
1 Ser..
They are rascals, base, the sons of common women
That wrong this vertue, or dare owne a thought
But fair and honourable of her: when we slight her,
Hang us, or cut's in pieces: let's tug i'th' Gallies.
2 Ser.
Brand us for villains.
Flo.
Why sure I dream: these are all Saints.
Otr.
Go, and live all her slaves.
Ger.
We are proud to do it.
Exeunt.
Otr.
What think ye now? am not I able Florimell
Yet to preserve ye?
Flo.
I am bound to your Lordship,
Ye are all honour, and good my Lord but grant me
Untill to morrow leave to weigh my Fortunes,
I'll give you a free answer, perhaps a pleasing,
Indeed I'll do the best I can to satisfie ye.
Otr.
Take your good time, this kisse, till then farewell, Sweet.
Exeunt.
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