_ is an honest man, _Ergo_, I must have a new
suite.

_Accu_. The moderator concludes so, _Graccus_ is overthrown so far as
the damage of the suite, so away with him; come, our fire will out strip
us; mine Host and you wee expect your companies; we must crave absence
awhile better to furnishe our purposes: the time of day to ye.

_Host_. Farwel, my good bullies, mine Host has sed and the mouse is dun.

[_Exeunt_.

[ACT THE FIFTH.

_Scene_ 1.]

_Enter the dumb shew of the marriage, Lentulus, Tully, and the rest.

Enter Hostis in Getticaes apparel, Getic. in hers, & Mistris Dama_.

_Hostis_. Come, Gossip, by my troth, I cannot keepe my hood in frame.

_Cittie wife_. Let me helpe ye, woman.

_Get_. Sir, we shall be troublesome to ye.

_Gra_. Oh urge not that I pray ye.

_Get_. I pray ye what shewe will be heere to night? I have seen the
_Babones_ already, the _Cittie of new Ninivie_[320] and _Julius Caesar_,
acted by the Mammets.

_Grac_. Oh, gentlewoman, those are showes for those places they are used
in; marry, heere you must expect some rare device, as _Diana_ bathing
herself, being discovered or occulated by _Acteon_, he was tranfigured
to a hart, & werried to death with his own dogs.

_Cit. W_. Thats prettie in good truth; & must _Diana_, be naked?

_Gra_. Oh of necessitie, if it be that show.

_Hostis_. And _Acteon_, too? that's prettie ifaith.

_Enter Caesar, Lent: Tully, Teren: Flavia_.

_Caes_. Now, gallant Bridegroomes, and your lovely Brides,
That have ingeminate in endlesse league
Your troth-plight hearts, in your nuptial vowes
Tyed true love knots that nothing can disolve
Till death, that meager pursevant of _Jove_
That Cancels all bonds: we are to [_sic_] clowdie,
My spirit a typtoe, nothing I could chid so much
As winged time, that gins to free a passage
To his current glasse and crops our day-light,
That mistie night will summon us to rest,
Before we feele the burthen of our eylids.
The time is tedious, wants varietie;
But that I may shew what delightful raptures
Combats my soule to see this union,
And with what boundles joy I doe imbrace it,
We heere commaund all prison gates flye ope,
Freeing all prisoners (traitors all except,)
That poore mens prayers may increase our daies,
And writers circle ye with wreathes of bayes.

_Grac_. S'foot, _Accutus_, lets lay hold of this to free our captive.

_Ac