Lass. What, sir, how came you thus gallant, I beseech you?
Han. I turn'd the spit in Fortune's wheele, sir.
Lass. But, stay, where is Lucilia?
Han. Marry, where say you, sir?
Lass. Villaine, looke for her, call her, seeke her out.
Lucillia! where's my love, ô where's Lucillia!
Aye me, I feare my barbarous rudenesse to her
Hath driven her to some desperate exigent.
Who would have tempted her true love so farre?
The gentlest minds with injuries overcome
Growe most impacient: ô Lucilia,
Thy absence strikes a loving feare in me,
Which from what cause so ever it proceedes
Would God I had beene kinder to thy love.
Enter Hard, with a Guard, Motto, Raphe.
Hard. Slaves, can ye not direct us to the place?
Mot. Yes, sir, here's the place we left him in.
Ra. O see (my lord) heer's one weares his apparrell.
Hard. But where is he? stay, sirra, what are you That jet thus in the garments of the Prince.