Prot. Alas; we will wear any thing.
Brun. This is madness
Take but my counsel.
Thier. Yours? dare you again
Though arm'd with th' authority of a mother,
Attempt the danger that will fall on you
If such another syllable awake it?
Goe, and with yours be safe, I have such cause
Of grief, nay more, to love it, that I will not
Have such as these be sharers in it.
Lecu. Madam.
Prot. Another time were better.
Brun. Do not sti[r],
For I must be resolv'd, and will, be statues.
Enter Martel.
Thier. I, thou art welcome, and upon my soul
Thou art an honest man, do you see, he has tears
To lend to him whom prodigal expence
Of sorrow, has made bankrupt of such treasure,
Nay, thou dost well.
Mart. I would it might excuse
The ill I bring along.