Ros. Do so. [Ex. Rossella.
Cla. You are angry Mother, and ye are old too,
Forgetting what men are: but we shall temper ye.
How fare your prisoners, Ladies? in what formes
Do they appear in their afflictions?
Jul. Mine fare but poorly;
For so I am commanded: 'tis none of their fault.
Cla. Of what sort are they?
Jul. They say they are Gentlemen.
But they shew Mungrels.
Cla. How do they suffer?
Jul. Faith like boyes;
They are fearful in all fortunes; when I smile
They kneel, and beg to have that face continued;
And like poor slaves, adore the ground I go on.
When I frown, they hang their most dejected heads,
Like fearful sheephounds; shew 'em a crust of bread
They'll Saint me presently, and skip like Apes
For a sup of Wine. I'll whip 'em like hackneys,
Saddle 'em, ride 'em, do what I will with 'em.
Cla. Tush, these are poor things.
Have they names like Christians?
Jul. Very fair names: Franvile, Lamure, and Morillat;
And brag of great kindreds too. They offer very handsomely,
But that I am a fool, and dare not venture.
They are sound too o'my conscience,
Or very near upon't.
Cla. Fy, away fool.