Sor. Go to your pleasures, let me alone with this,
Hope shall not trouble ye, nor he three dayes.
Fred. I shall be bound unto thee.
Enter Valerio, Camillo, Cleanthes, Menallo.
Sor. I'le do it neatly too, no doubt shall catch me.
Fred. Be gone, they are going to bed, I'le bid good night to 'em.
Sor. And mark the man, you'l scarce know 'tis Valerio. [Exit.
Cam. Chear up my noble Lord, the minute's come,
You shall injoy the abstract of all sweetness,
We did you wrong, you need no wine to warm ye,
Desire shoots through your eyes like sudden wild-fires.
Val. Beshrew me Lords, the wine has made me dull,
I am I know not what.
Fred. Good pleasure to ye,
Good night and long too, as you find your appetite
You may fall to.
Val. I do beseech your grace,
For which of all my loves and services
Have I deserved this?