Leuc. But 'tis not reason directs thee thus.
Ismen. Then have I none at all, for all I have in me
Directs me: Your Father's in a pretty rage.
Leucippus. Why?
Ismenus. Nay, 'tis well, if he know himself, but some of the Nobility have deliver'd a petition to him: what's in't, I know not, but it has put him to his trumps: he has taken a months time to answer it, and chafes like himself.
Enter Leontius, Bacha, and Tellamon.
Leu. He's here Ismenus.
Leon. Set me down Tellamon. Leucippus.
Leu. Sir.
Bach. Nay good Sir, be at peace, I dare swear he kn[ew] not of it.
Leon. You are foolish: peace.