Nich. A good lucke on ye!
Exit.
M. Bar. Alas, poore foole, he uses all his wit! 430
Phillip, in faith[1711] this mirth hath cheered thought,
And cussend it of his right play of passion.
Goe after Nick, and, when thou thinkst hees there,
Go in and urge to that which I have writ:
Ile in these meddowes make a cerckling walke, 435
And in my meditation conjure so,
As that same[1712] fend of thought, selfe-eating anger,