Enter PENULO and LENTULO.

PENULO.
Come away with thy basket, thou loggerheaded jack.
I think thy basket be cloven to thy back.

LENTULO.
My back and my basket; look, dost thou not see,
When my basket is on my back, then my back is under me?
And, O this basket, wott'st thou wherefore I keep it so close?
For all the love of my heart within this basket goes.

PENULO. Thy love, with a wanion![102] are you in love, sir, then, with your leave?

LENTULO.
What an ass art thou: couldst thou not all this time perceive,
That I never sleep but when I am not awake,
And I eat and I eat till my belly would ache?
And I fall away like a gammon of bacon.
Am I not in love when I am in this tacon?[103]
Call'st thou this the court? would I had ne'er come thither
To be caught in Cupido. I faint, I faint! O, gather me, gather me!
[Pretends to swoon.

PENULO.
Come up, and be hang'd. Alack, poor Lentulo! [Aside.
Tell me with whom thou art in love so.

LENTULO.
You kill me, and you make me tell her name. No, no.
O terrible torments, that trounce in my toe!
Love, my masters, is a parlous matter! how it runs out of my nose!
It's now in my back, now in my belly; O, now in the bottom of my hose.

PENULO.
The pestilence! there, what is she, my boy?
I'll make her love thee again, be she never so coy.

LENTULO.
Wilt thou so? O gods of love! that word plucks up my heart,
I'll tell thee, sirrah—even as we two at the court-gate did wait,
Did'st thou not mark a goodly lady, O lady, lady![104]
Why should not I as well as he, my dear lady?
Did'st thou not see her come in with a golden lock?
She had a fine gown on her back, and a passing nether-stock.

PENULO.
Well, sir, proceed: I remember her very well.
It's the Duke's daughter the sot means, I can tell. [Aside.

LENTULO.
Now, sirrah, there was a little dappard[105] ass with her,
that went before:
When I saw him, I came in sneaking more and more.
To have heard them talk; ah! crouching on is good;
For when he had talk['d] awhile, I had come in with, ay forsooth, no
forsooth, that I would,
And she would have look'd upon me: then more 'quaintance we should have.

PENULO.
An excellent device. Ah, sirrah! you are an excellent knave.

LENTULO. Tu autem, tu[106] autem: I have it in me. But, sirrah, wott'st thou what now? As God juggle me, when I came near them, I tell thee true, The same squall[107] did nothing but thus: I know what's what; And I ran before him, and did thus too. [Strikes PENULO.

PENULO.
A pox upon you, what meant you by that?

LENTULO.
What mean I? marry, sir, he meant to give her a box on the ear, if she
spake to me,
And I meant to give him another box on the ear, sir, he should see.

PENULO.
You should have bestow'd it where you meant it, then.
Must you strike me, and mean other men?

LENTULO.
'Twas nothing, fellow, but for 'sample's sake.

PENULO.
Well, sir, I am content this once it to take.
But, sirrah, you must know that squall is the duke's son,
That now by mischance is stroken stark dumb,
In fetching home his sister, that ran away from hence.

LENTULO.
Is she then a runaway? O passing wench!
I thought as much; now, good Lord, to see
That she and I now akin should be.
O cuckally[108] luck! O heavy chance, O!
I runaway, she runaway: go together, go!

PENULO.
But all the court laments, and sore weeps for it.

LENTULO.
All the court? thou liest: the Court-gate weeps not a whit.

Enter BOMELIO, like a counterfeit Physician.

BOMELIO. Bien[109] venu, chi diue ve mi nou intendite signeur, no. I have a piece of work in hand now, that all the world must not know.

LENTULO.
Cock's nowns, the devil! a-God's name, what's he?

PENULO.
Some Spaniard or foreign stranger he seems to be.

BOMELIO. Dio vou salvi, signore, e voutre gratio pavero mouchato.

LENTULO.
I have no pleasure in thee: I pray thee, get thee gone.

PENULO.
What would you, sir?

BOMELIO.
Monsieur, par ma foy, am one have the grand knowledge in the skience
of fiskick.
Can make dem hole have been all life sick;
Can make to seco see, and te dumb speak;
Can make te lame go, and be ne'er so weak.

PENULO.
Can you so, sir? what countryman are you, I pray?

BOMELIO.
E be Italian, Neapolitan: e come a Venice[110] a toder day.

LENTULO.
And you can speak any pedlar's French,[111] tell me what I say.

BOMELIO. Ne point entende, signior.

LENTULO.
You are an ass. I can spose him, I.

BOMELIO.
Monsieur, parle petit: e heard now hereby,
Dere be a nobel man dumb, dat made me stay:
If me no help him, me carry no head away.

PENULO.
Will you venture your head to help him, indeed?
Well, sir, I'll tell the Duke with all possible speed.
Tarry me[112] here: I'll return by and by.
Excellent luck! it falls out happily.
[Exit.

LENTULO.
Will you venture your head, sirrah, blockhead you?

BOMELIO.
You be de ass-head, me can tell dat's true.

LENTULO.
Swounds! O, but that I am in love, thou shouldst know
What 'twere to move my vengeance so!

BOMELIO.
Come heter, sirrah; me speak with you: me can tell
You are de runaway from your ma'ter; ah, very well.

LENTULO.
You gods and devils eke, what do you mean to do?
Shall I be known a runaway, for and to shame me too?
I a runaway, sirrah? go with your uplandish, go:
I am no runaway, I would you should know.

BOMELIO.
You no runaway from your ma'ter in de wood,
When he send you to market? Ah, no point good!

LENTULO.
O furies fell, and hags of hell, with all that therein be!
What, do ye mean to shame me clean, and tell him then of me?
Hear you, sirrah: you are no devil; mass, and I wist you were,
I would lamback[113] the devil out of you, for all your gear.

BOMELIO.
Diavolo? ah, fie! me no diavolo, me very fury.
Let-a me see your basket: what meat you buy?

LENTULO.
Look in my basket! O villain, rascal, tarry, stay!
Hath opened it? out alas! my love is quite flown away.
My love is gone, my love is gone out of the basket there,
Prepare therefore to kill thyself: farewell, my friends so dear.

BOMELIO.
Ah, vat-a you do, man?

LENTULO.
Uplandish, hence away.

BOMELIO.
Vat-a you do, man? no point yourself to slay.
Come de be hang-a.[114]

LENTULO.
Alas! O my neck, alas!
O frying-pan of my head! uplandish, now, cham worse than ever was.
Adieu! farewell, farewell, my love.

BOMELIO.
Your love? if you be in love, den do as I bid do,
And you shall 've[115] your love away wit' you, too.

LENTULO.
Uplandish, O my friend! if thou do so for me,
Hold here my hand: thy fellow, friend, and partner will I be.

BOMELIO.
Go you ten, and get-a me some fine, fine, fine colosse,
And wit' te marigol' leaf all-to mus your nose.

LENTULO.
Ah, my nose, my nose! O God, is my nose in my hand?
Uplandish, leave your signs; without them I can understand.

BOMELIO.
And come a me heter wit' a gold ring in your mouth fast:
E make de lady go wit' you weter list at last.

LENTULO.
O, let me 'brace thy cursed corpse! O, now I live again!
I will go get apparel straight, although be to my pain.
'Tis th'apparel, a marigol', and a ring.

BOMELIO.
Noting else, and you tem bring.

LENTULO.
Bring them? yes, I warrant thee, I'll bring them by and by.
Now, goodman Venus, lend thy hand, and lady Vulcan high.
[Exit.

BOMELIO.
A good beginning. I am not descri'd:
They know not me, but I know them too well.
Disguised thus their counsels may be tri'd,
And I may safe return unto my cell;
Where I have left my solitary son,
'Twixt hope and fear, in doubt and danger too,
Till I return to tell him what is done,
Which for his sake I have devis'd to do.
Eternal gods, that know my true intent,
And how unjustly wronged I have been,
Vouchsafe all secret dangers to prevent,
And further me, as yet you do begin.
Sufficeth you my travail heretofore,
My hunger, cold, and all my former pain.
Here make an end, and plague me now no more:
Contented, then, at rest I will remain.
But hark! some comes: dissemble, then, again.

Enter the DUKE, his Son, and PENULO.

PENULO.
My lord, yon is the man whom I have told to you.[116]

DUKE.
My friend, I am inform'd that by thy worthy skill
In physic, thou art able to recover at thy will
The strangest cures that be: if this be true indeed,
As grant the gods it may, I pray thee then with speed
Provide for our relief: recover this my son,
Unto his speech, whom here thou seest before us to be dumb.

BOMELIO.
You no take care for dat, me nobel prince;
Me make him speak again, or me ne'er come hence.

DUKE.
Thrice welcome, then, to us: despatch it out of hand,
And thou shalt bless the time that e'er thou cam'st unto our land.

BOMELIO.
Let-a me see him. You hear me?
Ah, dat vel: turn heter; no like it truly.

PENULO.
By the mass, this physic is an excellent art;
It picks such a deal of gold out of every part. [Aside.

BOMELIO.
Vell, vell; me now see vat this matter mean.
Nobel prince, dis ting be done by mashic clean.
'Tis true dat me tell, me perceive it plain:
No natural 'pediment, but cunshering certain.

DUKE.
O double, treble woe! my son, how cometh this?
He saith by magic it is wrought, unnatural it is.
Dost thou remember aught, that so it should appear,
Or can'st thou any reason make it should be true we hear?
What means he by these signs? can any one express?

PENULO.
If you give me leave, sir, to say as I guess,
Methinks he should mean there was some old man,
That threatened to be revenged on him then.
'Tis so you may see: he confirms it again.

DUKE.
Condemned be that man to everlasting pain,
Perpetual his annoy, continual his unrest!
O, that I had him here to plague as I thought best!
But, learned sir, is there no way, is there no remedy?
Can there be found out no device the charm to mollify?
Good sir, if anything, whatever that it be,
Let spare no cost, my will is such, I will allow it thee.

BOMELIO.
Indeed, and by my trot', dar is o' thing,
But me am vera let' de same to bring;
Yit wit'out dat me am seawer,[117] me tell,
Your son again be never more well.

DUKE.
Good father, tell it me: whatever should befall,
Mine be the danger, mine the loss, you shall be pleased for all.
In any case, express it then.

BOMELIO.
Fait', then me will.
If you no have your son be so dumb still.
You mus' get-a de grand enemy dat he now have,
And in de tenderest part his dearest blood crave:
Derwit' mus' you wash his tongue-a string.
Noting but dat will his speech bring.

DUKE.
The dearest blood in the tenderest part
Of his great enemy? O, grief to my heart!
Will nothing else cure his disease?

BOMELIO.
Noting, by my trot'; but do as you please.

DUKE.
My son, my wretched son! and whom dost thou suppose
Thy greatest enemy amongst thy father's foes?
It is Hermione: 'tis he, and none but he.
He hath now proved himself, indeed, thy greatest enemy.
Where lives the wretch? That he were ta'en, and we revenged be?

PENULO.
And must his dearest blood, in his tenderest part,
Help him in his speech? that's an excellent art.
But what part is that, my masters, now about a man
That is the tenderest? guess it, and you can.
I can tell what part a woman thinks tenderest to be,
And there is dear blood in it—but benedicite.
And do you think, sir, there is none but he,
That can be thought his greatest enemy?
I have heard it said, there is no hate
Like to a brother or sister's, if they fall at debate.
I will not say, but you may think it as well as I,
If you mark since her coming home his sister's cruelty,
And the continual rancour she beareth unto him.

BOMELIO.
Is te maid his sister? be Got, den, he say tim.
Bin mine fait' and trot', ser, 'tis true dat he say:
His sister be his greatest enemy to-day.

DUKE.
And must I kill my daughter to help my son to speech?
I'll never do it.

PENULO.
See how a doth beseech!—
I would all our daggers were of his quality,
They should not brawl with a man, then, so for his money.

BOMELIO.
You kill your daughter! fie, no point so.
Her dearest blood in tenderest part me will show:
'Tis in her paps, her dugs, for der be de tenderest part,
And de blood de dearest; it comes from de heart.
So she be prick'd a little under de breast,
And wash his tongue-a, he speak wit' de best.

DUKE.
This thing is somewhat easier, if she consent thereto;
If not, I can enforce and make her it to do.
Penulo, despatch, and to my marshal bear
This signet for a token that he send her to us here.

PENULO. I will, my lord. [Exit.

DUKE.
He that hath felt the zeal, the tender love and care:
The fear, the grief that parents dear unto their children bear,
He may, and only he, conceive mine, inward woe,
Distracted thus 'twixt two extremes that hale me to and fro.
Sometime mistrusting that, and then misliking this—
Have parents such a cause of joy, or is it such a bliss
To see the offspring of their seed in health before them now?
O, little know they what mishap awaits the death for you.
But, son, my dearest son, recomfort thou thy mind;
Fight against fortune and thy fates, when they be most unkind.
And since I understand what may recover thee,
Make sure account of it, myself will do it presently.
But, sir, I pray you, lest my daughter should by fear
Or fright[118] of it be sore abash'd, be always ready here
To stench her wound, when you see good.

BOMELIO.
Awe, awe, she lose but little blood:
Two or tree ounces sha' be de very most.
Yonder she come, is no she?

DUKE.
The same is she.

Enter FIDELIA with PENULO.

FIDELIA.
Father, they say you sent for me.

DUKE.
Yea, daughter, I did so;
And mark what I shall say to thee, the cause thereof to show.
Thou seest thy brother here?

FIDELIA.
In name, but not in kind.

DUKE.
Well, hold thy peace, I say, and let me tell my mind.
Thy brother here, I say, thou seest him stricken dumb,
And, as this learned man declares by magic it is done.
But yet there is a way—one thing—he telleth me,
That will restore him to his speech that resteth inwardly;
Which, though I might command, yet I intreat to know,
Be not so stubborn or unkind thy furtherance to show.

FIDELIA.
Noble father, you cannot say, but hitherto I have
Been most obedient to your will in all things that you crave;
But herein pardon me, if this I do deny:
I never can be made to grant help to mine enemy,
My deadly enemy, worse than my mortal foe,
And such an one is he to me, for I have found him so;
That laboured evermore to cross me with despite,
But I am glad I may so well his courtesy requite.

PENULO.
A right woman—either love like an angel,
Or hate like a devil—in extremes so to dwell. [Aside.

DUKE.
But, daughter, I command, and I thy father, too.

FIDELIA.
And I, your daughter, anything that lawful is to do.

DUKE.
Is it not right and lawful both to help thy brother's woe?

FIDELIA.
It's neither right nor lawful, sir, to help my deadly foe.

DUKE.
If he have been thy foe, he may become thy friend.

FIDELIA.
And when I see that come to pass, I may some succour send.

DUKE.
But wherefore shouldst thou be so cruel unto him?

FIDELIA.
Because unto my dearest friend so spiteful he hath been.

DUKE.
Nay, stubborn girl, but then I will constrain thee, I.
Lay hold on her: myself will then, sith she doth it deny.

FIDELIA.
Assist me, righteous gods, in this extremity.

BOMELIO. [To DUKE, aside.]
Ah, pardon-a, pardon-a: please you, let me a while wit' her alone,
And me warrant me make her consent to you anon;
Else me give her a powder with a little drink,
Whish make her sleep; and den, when she noting tink,
Wit' de sharp rasher, me prick her by and by,
And stop it again, and she no feel why.
Please you begone, and let us two alone here.
Me make her consent, you no point fear.

DUKE.
Do it, Master Doctor, and I am bound to you for aye.
Ungracious girl, that dost deny the father to obey.
Look to her, sir, and send me word when thou hast done the deed.

[Exeunt.

BOMELIO.
Awe, awe; i'fait', i'fait', me make her bleed.

FIDELIA.
O wretched girl! what hope remains behind?
What comfort can recomfort now thy mind?
Forsaken thus of father and of friend,
Why seek'st thou not to bring thy life to end?
Can greater woes befall unto thy share?
Come, gentleman, despatch, and do not spare:
If it be so his pleasure and thy will,
1 am content my dearest blood to spill.
Defer not then: hold, take thine aim at me,
And strike me through; for I desire to die.

BOMELIO.
The heavens forbid, fair maiden; no, not I:
I am thy friend, I am no enemy.
Fear not, stand up: it is only for thy sake
That I this toil and travail undertake.
Thy love, my son, is at my cave with me,
Safe and in health, long looking there for thee.
Trust to my words, fair maid, for I am he,
That overtook thee in the wood last day;
And till thy coming, Hermione, I say,
Is in my cave—

FIDELIA.
What joyful words be these!
And is Hermione your son? do, then, as you shall please.
Behold me ready, prest to follow any way:
Good father, do not thus delude a simple maid, I pray.
I trust unto your words: my life is in your power,
And till I see Hermione, each minute is an hour.

BOMELIO.
Daughter, dismay no whit; but trust to me;
What I have said performed thou shalt see.
I have dissembled with thy father here,
The better that I might with thee confer.
And since thou art so faithful to thy love,
As I may well report I did thee prove,
Let us be gone now closely as we may.

FIDELIA.
Yea, my good father, even when you will, I pray.
Thrice-blessed be the hour I met with you!
My father now and brother both adieu:
Unkind to her, most kind that you should be,
I leave them all, my dear, to come to thee.

[Exeunt.

Enter HERMIONE, with books under his arm.

HERMIONE.
O gods! that deepest griefs are felt in closest smart;
That in the smiling countenance may lurk the wounded heart,
1 see the noble mind can counterfeit a bliss,
When overwhelmed with a care his soul perplexed is.
It is for dastard knights, that stretch on feather beds,
Despairing in adversity so low to hang their heads.
The better born, the more his magnanimity:
The fiercer fight, the deeper wound, the more undaunted he.
So I perceive it now; I well perceive it here:
What I myself could not, I learn by thee, my father dear.
He that in golden age, I mean his lusty youth,
Was thought to spend in pleasure's lap without regard of ruth;
He that had lost his time as bravely as the best,
Only devising how to make his joys surmount the rest:
Not in that wanton youth, not in that pleasant mate,
Could Fortune with her fickleness his wonted mind abate.
He rather challengeth to do her very worst,
And makes a semblance of delight, although indeed accurs'd.
My father thereupon devised how he might
Revenge and wreak himself on her, that wrought him such despite:
And therefore, I perceive, he strangely useth it,
Enchanting and transforming that his fancy did not fit.
As I may see by these his vile blasphemous books;
My soul abhors as often as mine eye upon them looks.
What gain can countervail the danger that they bring,
For man to sell his soul to sin, is't not a grievous thing?
To captivate his mind, and all the gifts therein,
To that which is of others all the most ungracious sin;
Which so entangleth them that thereunto apply,
As at the last forsaketh them in their extremity.
Such is this art, such is the study of this skill,
This supernatural device, this magic, such it will.
In ransacking his cave these books I lighted on,
And with his leave I'll be so bold, while he abroad is gone,
To burn them all; for best that serveth for this stuff.
I doubt not but at his return to please him well enough.
And, gentlemen, I pray, and so desire I shall,
You would abhor this study, for it will confound you all.
[Exit.

Enter LENTULO with a ring in his mouth, a marigold in his hand,
a fair suit of apparel on his back; after he hath a while made
dumb-show, PENULO cometh, running in with two or three other.

PENULO.
Run, for the love of God! search, villains, out of hand:
Run, I say, rascals: look about ye; how, do you stand?
The Duke's daughter is gone again, and all the court is in an uproar.
A pox on such a physician; he shall counsel her no more.

SERJEANT.
See you, Master Penulo, who is that yonder so brave?

PENULO.
Cock's blood, you villain! what do you here, you slave?
Swounds! hath robb'd the Duke of a suit of apparel,
Why speak you not, sirrah? yea, will you not tell?
Lay him on, my masters: spare him not, I say.
Speak you by signs? One of you pull the ring away.

SERJEANT.
Cock's blood, my finger! a bites as pestilence[119] there.

LENTULO.
What mean you, my masters; what mean ye here?

PENULO.
Have you found your tongue, sir! O, very well.
I pray you, sir, where had you this suit of apparel?

LENTULO.
This 'parel? what, and I stole it: what's that to thee?

PENULO.
Marry, sir, no more but that hang'd you shall be.

LENTULO.
Then, all the world shall see there is somewhat in me.
When I am hang'd, O, I shall swing lustily.
Mass, I shall do him great credit that hangs me.
But if I may be hanged by an attorney,
I will desire thee the place to supply.

PENULO.
Yes, marry will I, for courtesy sake.
Come on your way, sir: the pains I will take
To bring you before the Duke, that he may see,
What a proper man in his apparel you be.

LENTULO.
Wilt thou, faith? mass, I thank thee heartily;
But I must talk a little with our uplandish here,
And then I'll go with thee, faith, anywhere.

PENULO.
Uplandish, you rascal! where is he now?
He's gone, and stole away the Duke's daughter with him too.

LENTULO.
O my heart! what do you say?

PENULO.
Marry, that together they be both run away.

LENTULO.
Nay, then, have after ye; behind I'll not stay.

PENULO.
What! no such haste with you, sir, I pray.

LENTULO.
And is my lady gone and fled? O, take me up, for I am dead.
Farewell, my marigold; O villain, caitiff, he!
By bones and stones, and all the moons, I will avenged be.

PENULO.
You shall be revenged, sir, that shall you presently.
Away, away with him to the Duke by and by.

LENTULO.
I can go by myself, and you will let me alone.
Now as I walk, alas! I make to me my moan.
When I in prison strong, poor soul, shall live and die,
Then will I make my loving song upon mine own pigsny.

PENULO.
Away with him, sirs: why do ye tarry?

LENTULO. And thou wert in my case, thou wouldst not be so hasty. [_Exit in custody of _SERJEANT.

PENULO.
Fie upon it! what a stir have we here?
Never was nobleman's house in such fear.
Such hurrying and stirring, such running every way;
Such howling, such crying, such accursing the day.
That ever the villain could counterfeit so,
[And] when we least thought of it, away with her to go.
But the world is so full of knavery now,
That we know not whom to trust, I may say to you.
If my wife fall sick, as she may, I'll make a condition,
She shall never take counsel of an uplandish physician.
Hang them, knaves; But what a prating keep I,
When I should have been seven miles of mine errand; for why
I must go set all the country up in a watch,
If it be possible, this physician to catch.
[Exit PENULO.[120]

Enter BOMELIO and FIDELIA.

BOMELIO.
Stay, daughter, stay: forbear thy posting haste.
Thou need'st not fear; all perils now are past.
Thanks to the gods that such success they gave,
Thus happily to bring us to my cave.

FIDELIA.
O father! still I fear mishap behind:
Suspect is natural unto our kind,
And perils that import a man's decay
Can never be eschewed too soon, they say.
Had I [but] sight of mine Hermione,
I care not then what did become of me.

BOMELIO.
I will herein accomplish thy desire,
So grant the gods the rest that I require.
Hermione! Hermione! my son, I say,
Come forth and see thy friends that for thee stay.

Enter HERMIONE.

HERMIONE.
Welcome, my father; but ten times welcome thou,
The constant lady mine, that liveth now.

FIDELIA.
And lives Hermione? lives my Hermione?
What can be added more to my felicity?

HERMIONE.
Thy life, my life; such comfort dost thou give:
Happy my life, because I see thee live.

BOMELIO.
Whilst they record the sweetness of their bliss,
I will apply to further, as they wish,
Their[121] sweet delight by magic's cunning so,
That happy they shall live in spite of foe.

HERMIONE.
How doubtful are the lets of loyal love!
Great be the dangers that true lovers prove;
But when the sun, after a shower of rain,
Breaks through the clouds and shows his might again,
More comfortable to [us] his glory then,
Because it was awhile withheld of men.
Peace after war is pleasanter, we find;
A joy deferr'd is sweeter to the mind:
So I——

FIDELIA.
It hath been said that, when Ulysses was
Ten years at Troy, and ten years more, alas!
Wandering abroad as chance and fortune led,
Penelope supposing him for dead:
But he, providing still for afterclaps,
When he had 'scap'd a thousand hard mishaps,
It did him good to reckon up at last
Unto his wife his travails he had pass'd,
And sweetly then recording his distress
To make the more account of happiness.
So I——

HERMIONE.
Then, as the turtle that hath found her mate
Forgets her former woes and wretched state,
Renewing now her drooping heart again,
Because her pleasure overcomes her pain;
The same of thy desired sight I make,
Whereon thy faith, thy heart and hand I take.

FIDELIA.
And so I swear to thee unfeignedly
To live thine own, and eke thine own to die.

Enter BOMELIO.

BOMELIO. Gog's blood! villains! the devil is in the bed of straw! Wounds! I have been robb'd, robb'd, robb'd! where be the thieves? My books, books! did I not leave thee with my books? Where are my books? my books! where be my books, villain? arrant villain!

HERMIONE.
O father! my dear father, hark.

BOMELIO. Father, my dear father? Soul! give me my books. Let's have no more tarrying: the day begins to be dark; it rains: it begins with tempests. Thunder and lightning! fire and brimstone! And all my books are gone, and I cannot help myself, nor my friends. What a pestilence! who came there?

HERMIONE.
I'll tell you, father, if you please to hear.

BOMELIO. What can'st thou tell me? tell me of a turd. What, and a' come? I conjure thee, foul spirit, down to hell! Ho, ho, ho! the devil, the devil! A-comes, a-comes, a-comes upon me, and I lack my books. Help! help! help! Lend me a sword, a sword! O, I am gone! [He raves.

FIDELIA.
Alas! how fell he to this madding mood?

HERMIONE.
The heavens and earth deny to do us good!

FIDELIA.
O father! my good father, look on me.

BOMELIO. What meant I not to shut up the door, and take the keys with me, and put the books under the bed-straw? Out, you whore! a whore, a whore! Gog's blood! I'll dress you for a whore. I have a cause to curse whores as long as I live. Come away, come away! Give me my books, my books: give me, give me, give! [Exit.

FIDELIA. Help, help me, good Hermione! [Exit.

HERMIONE.
I come. O[122] worlds of misery!
Confounded on the top of my delight;
The Fates and Fortune thus against me fight.
[Exit.

[Enter VENUS and FORTUNE.]

FORTUNE'S triumph: sound trumpets, drums, cornets, and guns.

FORTUNE.
See, madam, who can dash your bravery,
Even at the pitch of your felicity?
When you assure that they shall steadfast stand,
Even then my power I suddenly can show,
Transposing it, as it had never been so.
Herein I triumph, herein I delight.
Thus have I manifested now my might.
Here, ladies, learn to like of Venus' lure,
And me love—long your pleasures shall endure.

VENUS.
Now thou hast done even what thou canst, I see,
They shall be once again relieved by me.

[Music, Music.