Lid. I am rooted here.
Fry. Remember your dear friends last request, your sisters dangers,
With the aids that you may lend her.
Lid. 'Pray you support me,
My Legs deny their Office.
Clar. I grow still
Farther engag'd unto his matchless vertues,
And I am dead indeed, until I pay
The debt I owe him in a noble way. [Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter Dorilaus, and Servant.
Dor. Thou hast him safe?
Serv. As fast as locks can make him;
He must break through three doors, and cut the throats
Of ten tall fellows, if that he 'scape us;
Besides, as far as I can apprehend,
He hath no such invention, for his looks
Are full of penitence.
Dor. Trust not a Knaves look,
They are like a Whores Oaths;
How does my poor Daughter
Brook her restraint?