Pet. He has hit it.
Fred. To horse again then, for this night I'le crown
With all the joyes ye wish for.
Pet. Happy Gentlemen. [Exeunt.
Enter Francisco.
Fran. This is the maddest mischief: never fool
Was so fob'd off, as I am; made ridiculous,
And to my self mine own Ass: trust a Woman?
I'le trust the Devil first; for he dare be
Better than's word sometime: what faith have I broke?
In what observance fail'd? Let me consider,
Enter Don John, and Frederick.
For this is monstrous usage.
Fred. Let them talk,
We'll ride on fair and softly.
Fran. Well, Constantia.
Fred. Constantia, what's this fellow? stay by all means.