Rut. Where are you, white-broth?
Now lusty blood,
Come in, and tell your mony:
'Tis ready here, no threats, nor no orations,
Nor prayers now.
Sulp. You do not mean to leave me.
Rut. I'le live in Hell sooner than here, and cooler. Come quickly come, dispatch, this air's unwho[l]som: Quickly good Lady, quickly to't.
Sulp. Well, since it must be, The next I'le fetter faster sure, and closer.
Rut. And pick his bones, as y'have done mine, pox take ye.
Dua. At my lodging for a while, you shall be quartered, And there take Physick for your health.
Rut. I thank ye, I have found my angel now too, if I can keep him. [Exeunt omnes.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter Rutilio and Duarte.
_Rut. You like the Letter?