Alph. I will not out; I will have all out with me, [Shake Irons.
I'll have thy Master in; he's only mad here:
And Rogues, I'll have ye all whipt; heigh, mad Boys, mad Boys.
Jul. Do you perceive him now?
Mast. 'Tis too apparent.
Jul. I am glad she is gone; he raves thus.
Mast. Do you hear, Sir?
'Pray will ye make less stir, and see your Chamber,
Call in more help, and make the Closet ready.
Keep. I thought he was mad; I'll have one long lash at ye.
Alph. My Chamber? where my Chamber? why my Chamber?
Where's the young Boy?
Mast. Nay, Pray ye, Sir, be more modest
For your own Credit sake; the people see ye,
And I would use ye with the best.
Alph. Best, hang ye,
What dost thou think me mad?