Gos. Prethee say so, Love.
Ger. 'Twould take away the honour from my blushes: Do not you play the tyrant, sweet: they speak it.
Hem. I thank you niece.
Gos. Sir, thank her for your life, And fetch your sword within.
Hem. You insult too much With your good fortune, Sir. [Exeunt Gos. and Ger.
Hub. A brave clear Spirit; Hemskirk, you were to blame: a civil habit Oft covers a good man: and you may meet In person of a Merchant, with a soul As resolute, and free, and all wayes worthy, As else in any file of man-kind: pray you, What meant you so to slight him?
Hem. 'Tis done now, Ask no more of it; I must suffer. [Exit Hemskirk.
Hub. This
Is still the punishment of rashness, sorrow.
Well; I must to the woods, for nothing here
Will be got out. There, I may chance to learn
Somewhat to help my enquiries further.
Van. Ha? A Looking-glass?
Hub. How now, brave Burgomaster?