Arn. Some means I shall make shortly to redeem you, Till when, observe her well, and fit her temper, Only her lust contemn.
Zen. When shall I see you?
Arn. I will live hereabouts, and bear her fair still, Till I can find a fit hour to redeem you.
Hip. Shut all the doors.
Arn. Who's that?
Zen. We are betray'd, The Lady of the house has heard our parly, Seen us, and seen our Loves.
Hip. You courteous Gallant,
You that scorn all I can bestow, that laugh at
The afflictions, and the groans I suffer for you,
That slight and jeer my love, contemn the fortune
My favours can fling on you, have I caught you?
Have I now found the cause? ye fool my wishes;
Is mine own slave, my bane? I nourish that
That sucks up my content. I'le pray no more,
Nor wooe no more; thou shalt see foolish man,
And to thy bitter pain and anguish, look on
The vengeance I shall take, provok'd and slighted;
Redeem her then, and steal her hence: ho Zabulon
Now to your work.
Enter Zabulon, and Servants, some holding Arnoldo, some ready with a cord to strangle Zenocia.
Arn. Lady, but hear me speak first, As you have pity.
Hip. I have none. You taught me, When I even hung about your neck, you scorn'd me.