here
That pulls me of; and I must downe for ever.

_Enter Daughter_[183]

_Daught_. Sir, will it please ye--

_Bar_. Ha!

_Daught_. Will it please ye, Sir--

_Bar_. Please me! what please me?--that I send thee, Girle,
To some of my great Masters to beg for me.
Didst thou meane so?

_Daught_. I meane, Sir--

_Bar_. Thou art too charitable
To prostitute thy beutie to releeve me;
With thy soft kisses to redeeme from fetters
The stubborne fortune of thy wretched father.

_Daught_. I understand ye not.

_Bar_. I hope thou do'st not.

_Daught_. My Lady Mother, Sir--

_Bar_. Prethee, good Girle,
Be not so cruell to thy aged father
To somme up all his miseries before him.

_Daught_. I come, Sir, to entreat your Company.

_Bar_. I am not alone.

_Daught_. My Mother will not eate, Sir.
--What fitt is this!

_Bar_. There can be no attonement:
I know the Prince: _Vandort_ is fleshd upon me,
And _Bredero_, though he be of noble nature,
Dare not step in. Wher's my Son _William_?
His Goverment is gon, too; and the Soldier,
O, the falce Soldier! What! wouldst thou have a husband?
Goe, marry an English Captaine, and hee'll teach thee
How to defy thy father and his fortune.--
I cannot eate; I have no stomach, Girle.

_Daught_. Good Sir, be patient.

_Bar_. No news from _Grotius_?
No flow of frends there? _Hoger-beets_ lye still, too?
--Away: ile come anon.

_Daught_. Now heaven preserve ye! [_Exit_.

_Bar_. A gentle Girle: why should not I pray, too?
I had nere more need. When I am sett and gon,
What understanding can they stick up then
To fill the place I bore? None, not a man:
To traffick with Great Princes? none: to deale
With all the trobles of the war? None, certaine, no man:
To bring in daylie treasure? I know no man;
They cannot pick a man made up to serve 'em.
Why should I feare then? doubt, and fly before
Myne owne weake thoughts?--Art thou there, too?

_Enter Wife[184] and Daughter_.

_Wife_. Fy, fy, Sir:
Why do you suffer theis sad dead retirements
To choake your speritts? You have studied long enough
To serve the uses of those men that scorne ye;
'Tis time you take your ease now.

_Bar_. I shall shortly;
An everlasting ease, I hope.

_Wife_. Why weep ye,
My deere Sir? speak.

_Bar_. Never till now unhappie!
Thy fruit there and my fall ripen togeather
And fortune gives me heires of my disgraces.

_Wife_. Take nobler thoughts.

_Bar_. What will becom of thee, Wif