Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred panch

Downe fals our ship, and there he breaks his neck:
Which in an instant up was belkt againe.

When thus this martyrd soule began to sigh:
"Give me your hand (quoth he) now doe you graspe
Th' unequal mirrour of ragg'd misery:

Is't not a horrid storme? O, well shap't sweete,

Could your quicke eye strike through these gashed wounds,
You should beholde a heart, a heart, faire creature,
Raging more wilde then is this franticke sea.
Wolt doe me a favour, if thou chance survive;
But visit Venice, kisse the pretious white
Of my most, nay, all epithites are base
To attribute to gratious Mellida :
Tell her the spirit of Antonio

Wisheth his last gaspe breath'd upon her breast."
Ros. Why weepes soft hearted Florisell?

Ant. Alas, the flintie rocks groand at his plaints.
Tell her (quoth he) that her obdurate sire
Hath crackt his bosome; therewithall he wept,
And thus sigh❜t on. The sea is merciful;

Looke how it gapes to bury all my griefe:

Well, thou shalt have it, thou shalt be his toumbe :
My faith in my love live; in thee, dy woe,

Dye unmatcht anguish, dye Antonio :

With that he totterd from the reeling decke,

And downe he sunke.

Ros. Pleasures bodie, what makes my Lady weepe?

Mel. Nothing, sweet Rossaline, but the ayer's sharpe. My fathers palace, Madam, will be proud To entertaine your presence, if youle daine

To make repose within. Aye me!

Ant. Ladie, our fashion is not curious.

Ros. Faith, all the nobler, tis more generous. Mel. Shall I then know how fortune fell at last, What succour came, or what strange fate insew'd?

Ant. Most willingly: but this same court is vast, And publike to the staring multitude.

Ros. Sweet Lady, nay good sweet, now by my troth Weele be bedfellowes: durt on complement froth.

[Exeunt; Rossaline giving Antonio the way.

ACTUS SECUNDUS.

Enter CATZO (with a Capon) eating, DILDO following him.

Dil.

AH, Catzo, your master wants a cleane trencher doe you heare?

Balurdo cals for your diminutive attend

ance.

Cat. The belly hath no eares, Dildo.

Dil. Good pugge, give me some capon.

Cat. No capon, no not a bitte, yee smooth bully; capon's no meat for Dildo: milke, milke, yee glibbery urchin, is foode for infants.

Dil. Upon mine honour.

Cat. Your honour with a paugh? slid, now every Jackan-apes loads his backe with the golden coat of honour; every asse puts on the lyons skinne and roars his honour; upon your honour! By my ladies pantable, I feare I shall live to heare a vintners boy cry, Tis rich neat canary, upon my honour.

Dil. My stomack's up.

Cat. I think thou art hungry.

Dil. The match of furie is lighted, fastned to the linstock of rage, and will presently set fire to the touchhole of intemperance, discharging the double coulvering of my incensement in the face of thy opprobrious speach. Cat. Ile stop the barrell thus; good Dildo, set not fire to the touch-hole.

Dil. My rage is stopt, and I will eate to the health of the foole, thy master Castilio.

Cat. And I will suck the juyce of the capon, to the health of the idiot, thy master Balurdo.

Dil. Faith, our masters are like a case of rapiers sheathed in one scabberd of folly.

Cat. Right Dutch blades. But was 't not rare sport at the sea-battle, whilst rounce robble hobble roared from the ship sides, to viewe our masters pluck their plumes and droppe their feathers, for feare of being men of marke.

Dil. Slud (cri'd Signior Balurdo) O for Don Bessiclers armour, in the mirror of knighthood: what coil's here? O for an armour, canon proofe: O, more cable, more fetherbeds, more fetherbeds, more cable, till hee had as much as my cable hatband, to fence him.

¶ Enter FLAVIA in haste, with a rebato.

:

Cat. Buxome Flavia: can you sing? song, song. Fla. My sweete Dildo, I am not for you at this time Madam Rossaline stayes for a fresh ruffe to appeare in the presence: sweete, away.

Dil. Twill not be so put off, delicate, delicious, spark eyed, sleek skind, slender wasted, clean legd, rarely shapt. Fla. Who, Ile be at all your service another season: my faith, ther's reason in all things.

Dil. Would I were reason then, that I might be in all things.

Cat. The breefe and the semiquaver is, wee must have the descant you made upon our names, ere you depart.

Fla. Faith, the song will seeme to come off hardly.
Cat. Troth not a whit, if you seeme to come off quickly.
Fla. Peart Catzo, knock it lustily then.

CANTANT.

Enter FOROBOSco, with two torches: CASTILIO singing fantastically; ROSSALINE running a caranto pase, and BALURDO, FELICHE following, wondering at them all.

Foro. Make place, gentlemen; pages, hold torches, the prince approacheth the presence.

Dil. What squeaking cart-wheel have we here? ha? Make place, gentlemen; pages, holde torches, the prince approacheth the presence.

Ros. Faugh, what a strong sent 's here, some bodie useth to weare socks.

Bal. By this faire candle light, tis not my feete; I never wore socks since I suckt pappe.

Ros. Savourly put off.

Cast. Hah, her wit stings, blisters, galles off the skinne with the tart acrimony of her sharpe quicknesse : by sweetenesse, she is the very Pallas that flewe out of Jupiter's brainepan. Delicious creature, vouchsafe mee your service by the puritie of bounty, I shall be proud of such bondage.

Ros. I vouchsafe it; be my slave. Signior Balurdo, wilt thou be my servant too?

Bal. O god forsooth in very good earnest, law, you wold make me as a man should say, as a man should say. Feli. Slud, sweet beauty, will you deign him your service? Ros. O, your foole is your only servant. But good Feliche, why art thou so sad? a pennie for thy thought,

man.

Feli. I sell not my thought so cheap: I valewe my meditation at a higher rate.