derstand not! I tell you they must have it.

_2 Ush_. Upon what necessity?

_1 Ush_. Still you are out of the trick of Court, sell your place,

_Enter_ Ladies _and_ Gentlemen.

And sow your grounds, you are not for this tillage.
Madams, the best way is the upper lodgings,
There you may see at ease.

_Ladies_. We thank you, Sir. [_Ex._ Ladies, Gent.

_1 Ush._ Would you have all these slighted? who should report then,
The Embassadors were handsome men? his beard
A neat one? the fire of his eyes quicker than lightning,
And when it breaks, as blasting? his legs, though little ones,
Yet movers of a mass of understanding?
Who shall commend their Cloaths? who shall take notice
Of the most wise behaviour of their Feathers?
Ye live a raw man here.

_2 Ush._ I think I do so.

_Enter 2 citizens, and Wives._

_1 Ush._ Why, whither would ye all press?

_1 Cit._ Good Master Usher.

_2 Cit._ My wife, and some few of my honest neighbours, here.

_1 Ush._ Prethee begone thou and thy honest Neighbours,
Thou lookst like an Ass, why, whither would you fish face?

_2 Cit._ If I might have
But the honour to see you at my poor house, Sir,
A Capon bridled and sadled, I'le assure your worship,
A shoulder of Mutton and a pottle of Wine, Sir,
I know your Brother, he was like ye,
And shot the best at Buts--

_1 Ush._ A ---- upon thee.

_2 Cit._ Some Musick I'le assure you too,
My toy, Sir, can play o'th' Virginals.

_1 Ush._ Prethee good toy,
Take away thy shoulder of Mutton, it is flie-blown,
And shoulder take thy flap along, here's no place for ye;
Nay then you had best be knock'd. [_Ex. Cit._

_Enter_ Celia.

_Cel._ I wou'd fain see him,
The glory of this place makes me remember,
But dye those thoughts, dye all but my desires,
Even those to death are sick too; he's not here,
Nor how my eyes may guide me--

_1 Ush._ What's your business?
Who keeps the outward door there? here's fine shuffling,
You wastcoateer you must go back.

_Cel._ There is not,
There cannot be, six days and never see me?
There must not be desire; Sir, do you think
That if you had a Mistris--

_1 Ush._ Death, she is mad.

_Cel_. And were yourself an honest man? it cannot--

_1 Ush._ What a Devil hast thou to do with me or my honesty?
Will you be jogging, good nimble tongue,
My fellow door-keeper.

_2 Ush._ Prethee let her alone,

_1 Ush._ The King is coming,
And shall we have an agent from the Suburbs
Come to crave audience