Cass. Ile follow him. [Exit.
Lass. What hellish spright ordain'd this hatefull feast That ends with horror thus and discontent?
Flor. I hope no daunger will succeede therein;
However, I resolve me to conceale it.—
My Lord, wilt please you now to change this habit,
And deck your selfe with ornaments more fit
For celebration of your marriage?
Lass. I, I, put on me what attire you will; My discontent, that dwels within me still.
[Exeunt
[SCENE 2.]
Enter Haunce solus.
Hans. Whom shall a man trust? a Painter? No: a servant? No:
a bed fellowe? No:
For, seeming for to see, it falls out right:
All day a Painter, and an Earle at night.
Enter Doctor.
Doct. Ho, Zaccharee, bid Ursula brushe my two, tree fine Damaske gowne; spread de rishe coverlet on de faire bed; vashe de fine plate; smoake all de shambra vit de sweete perfume.