Ver. 'Tis fatal to us all, and yet you Grandpree,
Have the least cause to fear.
Grand. Why, what's my hope?
Ver. The certainty that you have to be hang'd;
You know the Chancellours promise.
Grand. Plague upon you.
Ver. What think you of a Bath, and a Lords Daughter
To entertain you?
Grand. Those desires are off.
Frail thoughts, all friends, no Rollians now, nor Ottoes:
The sev'ral court'sies of our swords and servants
Defer to after consequence; let's make use
Of this nights freedom, a short Parliament to us,
In which it will be lawful to walk freely.
Nay, to our drink we shall have meat too, that's
No usual business to the men o'th' sword.
Drink deep with me to night, we shall to morrow,
Or whip, or hang the merrier.
Tre. Lead the way then. [Exeunt.
[Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.]
Enter Latorch, and Rollo.