stantly, and if your legs, friend, go no faster than your tongue, I shall be there before you.

Brain. I will. Vale.

[Exit.

Kite. 'Tis a precious fool, indeed!—I must go forth -But first, come hither, Thomas-I have admitted thee into the close recesses of my heart, and shewed thee all my frailties, passions, every thing.—

Be careful of thy promise, keep good watch.
Wilt thou be true, my Thomas ?

Cash. As truth's self, sir

But be assured you're heaping care and trouble
Upon a sandy base; ill-plac'd suspicion
Recoils upon yourself-She's chaste as comely!
Believe 't she is-Let her not note your humour;
Disperse the gloom upon your brow, and be
As clear as her unsullied honour.

Kite. I will then, Cash-thou comfort'st me-I'll drive these

Fiend-like fancies from me, and be myself again. Think'st thou she has perceived my folly ? 'Twere Happy if she had not-She has not—

They who know no evil, will suspect none.

Cash. True, sir! nor has your mind a blemish now. This change has gladdened me—Here's my mistress, And the rest, settle your reason to accost 'em. Kite. I will, Cash, I will

Enter WELL-BRED, Dame KITELY, and BRIDGET. Well. What are you plotting, brother Kitely,

That thus of late you muse alone, and bear
Such weighty care upon your pensive brow?

[Laughs. Kite. My care is all for you, good sneering bro

ther,

And well I wish you'd take some wholesome counsel, And curb your headstrong humours; trust me, bro

ther,

You were to blame to raise commotions here,
And hurt the peace and order of my house,

Well. No harm done, brother, I warrant you.
Since there is no harm done, anger costs
A man nothing, and a brave man is never
His own man 'till he be angry-To keep
His valour in obscurity, is to keep himself,
As it were, in a cloak-bag. What's a brave
Musician unless he play?

What's a brave man unless he fight ?

Dame. Aye, but what harm might have come of it, brother?

Well. What, school'd on both sides! Pr'ythee, Bridget, save me from the rod and lecture.

[Bridg. and Well. retire. Kite. With what a decent modesty she rates him!

My heart's at ease, and she shall see it is

How art thou, wife? Thou look'st both gay and

comely,

In troth, thou dost-I'm sent for out, my dear,

But I shall soon return-Indeed, my life,

Business that forces me abroad, grows irksome.

I cou'd content me with less gain and 'vantage,
To have thee more at home, indeed I cou'd.
Dame. Your doubts, as well as love, may breed
these thoughts.

Kite. That jar untunes me.

What dost thou say? Doubt thee?

I should as soon suspect myself—No, no,

My confidence is rooted in thy merit,

So fixt and settled, that, wert thou inclin'd

[Aside.

To masks, to sports, and balls, where lusty youth
Leads up the wanton dance, and the rais'd pulse
Beats quicker measures, yet I could with joy,
With heart's ease and security-not but
I had rather thou should'st prefer thy home,
And me, to toys and such like vanities.

Dame. But sure, my dear,

A wife may moderately more use these pleasures,
Which numbers, and the time give sanction to,
Without the smallest blemish on her name.

Kite. And so she may-And I'll go with thee, child, I will indeed-I'll lead thee there myself,

And be the foremost reveller.-I'll silence
The sneers of envy, stop the tongue of slander;
Nor will I more be pointed at, as one

Disturb'd with jealousy

Dame. Why, were you ever so ?

Kite. What!-Ha! never-ha, ha, ha l
She stabs me home. [Aside.] Jealous of thee !
No, do not believe it-Speak low, my love,
Thy brother will overhear us-No, no, my dear,

It cou'd not be, it cou'd not be-for-for

What is the time now ?-I shall be too late-
No, no, thou may'st be satisfy'd

There's not the smallest spark remaining-
Remaining! What do I say? There never was,
Nor can, nor ever shall be-so be satisfy'd—
Is Cob within there? Give me a kiss,

My dear; there, there, now we are reconcil❜d—
I'll be back immediately-Good-bye, good-bye-
Ha ha! jealous, I shall burst my sides with laugh-
ing.

Ha, ha! Cob, where are you, Cob? Ha, ha.—[Exit. [Well-bred and Bridget come forward.

Well. What have you done to make your husband part so merry from you? He has of late been little given to laughter.

Dame. He laughed indeed, but seemingly without mirth. His behaviour is new and strange. He is much agitated, and has some whimsy in his head, that puzzles mine to read it.

Well. 'Tis jealousy, good sister, and writ so largely, that the blind may read it; have you not perceived it yet?

Dame. If I have, 'tis not always prudent that my tongue should betray my eyes; so far my wisdom tends, good brother, and little more I boast-But what makes him ever calling for Cob so? I wonder how he can employ him.

Well. Indeed, sister, to ask how he employs Cob, is a necessary question for you, that are his wife, and

a thing not very easy for you to be satisfy'd in-But this I'll assure you, Cob's wife is an excellent bawd, sister, and oftentimes your husband haunts her house; marry, to what end I cannot altogether accuse him. Imagine you what you think convenient. But I have known fair hides have foul hearts ere now, sister.

Dame. Never said you truer than that, brother; so much I can tell you for your learning. O, ho! is this the fruit of 's jealousy? I thought some game was in the wind, he acted so much tenderness but now, but I'll be quit with him.-Thomas!

Enter CASH.

Fetch your hat, and go with me; I'll get my hood, and out the backward-way. I would to fortune I could take him there, I'd return him his own, I warrant him! I'd fit him for his jealousy! [Exeunt.

Well. Ha, ha! so e'en let them go; this may make sport anon- -What, Brain-worm ?

Enter BRAIN-WORM.

Brain. I saw the merchant turn the corner, and came back to tell you, all goes well; wind and tide, my master.

Well. But how got'st thou this apparel of the justice's man?

Brain. Marry, sir, my proper fine penman would needs bestow the grist o' me at the Windmill, to hear some martial discourse, where I so marshalled him, that I made him drunk with admiration; and because

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