Mer. Enquire.
Pvg. I was ſo earneſt vpon her, I mark’d not! The Diuell confeſſeth himſelfe coozen’d. My diuelliſh Chiefe has put mee here in flesh, [141] To ſhame mee! This dull body I am in, I perceiue nothing with! I offer at nothing, 30 That will ſucceed!
Tra. Sir, ſhe ſaw none, ſhe ſaies.
Pvg. Satan himſelfe, has tane a ſhape t’abuſe me. It could not be elſe.
Mer. This is aboue ſtrange! Mere-craft accuſeth him of negligence. That you ſhould be ſo retchleſſe. What’ll you do, Sir? How will you anſwer this, when you are queſtion’d? 35
Pvg. Run from my fleſh, if I could: put off mankind! This’s ſuch a ſcorne! and will be a new exerciſe, For my Arch-Duke! Woe to the ſeuerall cudgells, Muſt suffer, on this backe! Can you no ſuccours? Sir? 39
He asketh ayde.
Mer. Alas! the vſe of it is ſo preſent.
Pvg. I aske, Sir, credit for another, but till to morrow?
Mer. There is not ſo much time, Sir. But how euer, The lady is a noble Lady, and will (To ſaue a Gentleman from check) be intreated Mere-craft promiſeth faintly, yet comforts him. To ſay, ſhe ha’s receiu’d it.