Ware. Most politicly kind,
And, like a whore, perfect i' th' mystery!
It is beyond my sufferance.
Dor. Pray, sir, vex [not]:
I'll in and see your jewels, and make choice
Of some for every day; and some to wear
At masques. [Exit.
Ware. 'Tis very good. Two days
Of this I shall grow mad; or, to redeem
Myself, commit some outrage. O—O—O!
SCENE III.
Enter Plotwell and Roseclap.
Plot. Sir, I am sorry such a light offence
Should make such deep impressions in you: but that
Which more afflicts me than the loss of my
Great hopes, is that y' are likely to be abused, sir;
Strangely abused, sir, by one Bannswright. I hear
You are to marry——
Ware. Did you hear so?
Plot. Madam Aurelia's woman.
Ware. What of her, sir?
Plot. Why, sir, I thought it duty to inform you,
That you would better match a ruin'd bawd;
One ten times cured by sweating and the tub,[260]
Or pain'd now with her fiftieth ache, whom not
The pow'r of usquebaugh, or heat of fevers
Quickens enough to wish; one of such looks,
The judges of assize, without more proof,
Suspect, arraign, and burn for witchcraft.