1 Keep. Here comes my Master; to the spit ye whore,
And stir no more abroad, but tend your business;
You shall have no more sops i'th' pan else, nor no Porridge:
Besides, I'le whip your breech.
Fool. I'le go in presently.
1 Gent. I'le assure ye, Sir, the Cardinal's angry with ye
For keeping this young man.
Mast. I am heartily sorry.
If ye allow him sound, pray ye take him with ye.
1 Gent. This is the place, and now observe their humours.
2 Gent. We can find nothing in him light, nor tainted;
No startings, nor no rubs, in all his answers,
In all his Letters nothing but discretion,
Learning, and handsome stile.
Mast. Be not deceived, Sir,
Mark but his look.
1 Gent. His grief, and his imprisonment
May stamp that there.
Mast. Pray talk with him again then.
2 Gent. That will be needless, we have tried him long enough,
And if he had a taint we should have met with't.
Yet to discharge your care—