Jac. Where art thou treacher,
What is the matter Sirs?
Why do you hold me? I am basely wrong'd,
Torture, and hell be with you; let me go.
they drag him to a chair and hold him down in't.
Fre. Good Jac. be patient, and but hear
What I can say, you know I am your friend,
If you yet doubt it, by my soul I am.
Jac. S'death stand away;
I would my breath were poyson.
Fred. As I have life, that which was thrown on you,
And this now done, were but to draw you hither
For causes weighty, that concern your self,
Void of all malice, which this Maid my Sister
Shall tell you.
Jac. Puh, a pox upon you all; you will not hold me
For ever here, and till you let me go,
I'le talk no more.
Fran. As you're a Gentleman
Let not this boldness make me be believ'd
To be immodest; if there were a way
More silently to be acquainted with you,
God knows, that I would choose, but as it is
Take it in plainness: I do love you more
Than you do your content, if you refuse
To pity me, I'le never cease to weep,
And when mine eyes be out I will be told
How fast the tears I shed for you do fall,
And if they do not flow abundantly,
I'le fetch a sigh shall make 'em start, and leap,
As if the fire were under.
Jac. Fine mocking, fine mocking.
Fred. Mocking? look how she weeps.
Jac. Do's she counterfeit crying too?