me.

_Crac_. Nay, if you have more right to her than I, takt I pray you:--
would I were off with a faire broken pate.

_Suc_. Is your life hatefull to you?

_Bon_. Why doe you inquire, good puff past?

_Suc_. My blade
Is of the _Bilbo_[116] mettle; at its splendor
My foes does vanish.

_Bon_. Ile try that presently;--feare nothing, ladyes.

_Suc_. Death! now I thinke out, I did breake my blade this morning on
foure that did waylay me: Ile goe fetch another, and then I am for you.

_Crac_. Take myne, Captaine.

_Suc_. Hold your peace, be wise: that fellow
In the blew garment has a countenance
Presages losse of limme if we encounter.--
Ile meet you presently.

_Bon_. It shall not serve your turne yet: Ile not blunt
My sword upon such stock fish. _Grimes_, bestow
Thy timber on them.

_Grimes_. Come, sir. [_beats them_.

_Suc_. Take me without a weapon? this cudgell sure
Is Crabb tree, it tasts so sourely.
[_Exeunt_.

_Bel_. Oh, my Deare _Bonvill_.

_Bon_. Mistrisse, I sent an advocate to plead
My guiltless cause: you, too[117] severe a Judge
Forbad him audience; I am therefore come
Once more to prove my innocence.

_Cla_. Come, without Ceremony
Forgive you her and she shall pardon you
Most willingly.

_Bon_. Can you have soe much mercy,
You soe much goodnes?

_Bel_. Noe soule long tir'd with famine, whom kind death
Has new enfranchisd from the loathed flesh,
With happier expedition enters heaven
Then mine thy bosome, _Bonvill_. Let our loves,
Like plants that by their cutting downe shoot up,
Straiter and taller flourish: we are now
Inseperable.

_Cla_. Your good fates, though I
Repine not at them, makes my unhappy fortunes
Appeare farr more disastrous.

_Bon_. Whats thy misfortune?

_Bel_. Alas, my mother has crost her in her affection as she did us.

_Bon_. She shall
Crosse ours no more. _Belisia_, if youle
Be ruld by me you shall away with me;
None but you sister shall be privy to it,
And sheele keepe Councell.

_Bel_. Ile goe any whither
To enjoy thy presence; theres no heaven without it.

_Bon_. You shalbe advertisd where she remaines,
And certifie us how your mother takes it:
When we are married we shall live to thanke you.

_Cla_. Will you leave me, then?

_Bel_. Prethee, poore heart, lament not; we shall meet,
And all these stormes blowe over.

_Cla_. Your tempests past; mine now begins to rise
But Ile allay its violence with