_Arn._ Some means I shall make shortly to redeem you,
Till when, observe her well, and fit her temper,
Only her lust contemn.

_Zen._ When shall I see you?

_Arn._ I will live hereabouts, and bear her fair still,
Till I can find a fit hour to redeem you.

_Hip._ Shut all the doors.

_Arn._ Who's that?

_Zen._ We are betray'd,
The Lady of the house has heard our parly,
Seen us, and seen our Loves.

_Hip._ You courteous Gallant,
You that scorn all I can bestow, that laugh at
The afflictions, and the groans I suffer for you,
That slight and jeer my love, contemn the fortune
My favours can fling on you, have I caught you?
Have I now found the cause? ye fool my wishes;
Is mine own slave, my bane? I nourish that
That sucks up my content. I'le pray no more,
Nor wooe no more; thou shalt see foolish man,
And to thy bitter pain and anguish, look on
The vengeance I shall take, provok'd and slighted;
Redeem her then, and steal her hence: ho _Zabulon_
Now to your work.

_Enter_ Zabulon, _and_ Servants, _some holding_ Arnoldo,
_some ready with a cord to strangle_ Zenocia.

_Arn._ Lady, but hear me speak first,
As you have pity.

_Hip._ I have none. You taught me,
When I even hung about your neck, you scorn'd me.

_Zab._ Shall we pluck yet?

_Hip._ No, hold a little _Zabulon_,
I'le pluck his heart-strings first: now am I worthy
A little of your love?

_Arn._ I'le be your Servant,
Command me through what danger you shall aime at,
Let it be death.

_Hip._ Be sure Sir, I shall fit you.

_Arn._ But spare this Virgin.

_Hip._ I would spare that villain first,
Had cut my Fathers throat.

_Arn._ Bounteous Lady,
If in your sex there be that noble softness,
That tenderness of heart, women are crown'd for--

_Zen._ Kneel not _Arnoldo_, doe her not that honour,
She is not worthy such submission,
I scorn a life depends upon her pity.
Proud woman do thy worst, and arm thy anger
With thoughts as black as Hell, as hot and bloody,
I bring a patience here, shall make 'em blush,
An innocence, shall outlook thee, and death too.

_Arn._ Make me your slave, I give my freedom to ye,
For ever to be fetter'd to your service;
'Twas I offended, be not so unjust then,
To strike the innocent, this gentle maid
Never intended fear and doubt against you:
She is your Servant, pay not her observance
With cruel looks, her duteous faith with death.

_Hip._ Am I fair now? now am I worth your liking?

_Zen._ Not fair, not to be l