Mar. To that unlucky Lord, a —— upon him;
Whose hot horse-appetite being allaid once
With her chaste joyes, married again, scarce cool'd,
The Torches yet not out the yellow Hymen
Lighted about the bed, the Songs yet sounding,
Marine's young noble Daughter Helena,
Whose mischief stands at door next. Oh that recreant!
Per. Oh villain! Oh most unmanly falshood!
Nay then I see, my Letters were betraid too.
Oh, I am full of this, great with his mischiefs,
Loaden and burst: Come, lead me to my Lady.
Mar. I cannot, Sir, Lavall keeps her conceal'd,
Besides, her griefs are such, she will see no man.
Per. I must, and will go to her: I will see her:
There be my friend, or this shall be thy furthest.
Mar. Hold, and I'll help thee: but first ye shall swear to me,
As you are true and gentle, as ye hate
This beastly and base Lord, where I shall place ye,
(Which shall be within sight) till I discharge ye,
What-e'er you see or hear, to make no motion.
Per. I do by ——
Mar. Stay here about the house then,
Till it be later; yet the time's not perfect:
There at the back door I'll attend you truly.
Per. Oh monstrous, monstrous beastly villain. [Exit.
Mar. How cross this falls, and from all expectation!
And what the end shall be, Heaven only yet knows:
Only I wish, and hope. But I forget still,
Casta must be the bait, or all miscarries. [Exeunt.
Enter Gentille with a Torch, Shalloon above.