Ric. What think you now of me, I think this lump
Is nothing but a piece of fleagme congeal'd
Without a soul, for where there's so much spirit
As would but warm a flea, those faults of mine
Would make it glow, and flame in this dull heart,
And run like molten gold through every sin,
Till it could burst these walls, and fly away.
Shall I intreat you all to take your horses,
And search this innocent?
Ped. With all our hearts.
Ric. Do not divide your selves till you come there,
Where they say she was ty'd, I'll follow too,
But never to return till she be found.
Give me my sword good Pedro, I will do
No harm, believe me, with it, I am now
Farr better temper'd; if I were not so,
I have enow besides, God keep you all,
And send us good success. [Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima.
Enter Mercury, and Servant.
Mer. Who is it? can you tell?
Ser. By my troth, Sir, I know not, but 'tis a Gentlewoman.
Mer. A Gentleman, I'll lay my life, you puppy, h'as sent his Wife to me: if he have, fling up the bed.
Enter Wife with a Letter.