Scæna prima. Enter Petronius, and Moroso.

Petro.
A Box o'th eare doe you say?

Mor.
Yes sure a sound one,
Beside my nose blown to my hand; if Cupid
Shoot Arrows of that waight, i'le sweare devoutly,
Has sude his liverie, and no more a Boy.

Petro.
You gave her some ill language?

Mor.
Not a word,

Petro.
Or might be you weare fumbling?

Mor.
Would I had sir.
I had been a forehand then; but to be baffel'd,
And have no feeling of the cause—

Petro.
Be patient,
I have a medicine clapt to her back will cure her.

Mor.
No sure it must be afore sir.

Petro.
O' my Conscience,
When I got these two wenches (who till now
Ne'r shew'd their riding) I was drunck with Bastard,
Whose nature is to forme things like it selfe
Heady, and monstrous: did she slight him too?

Mor.
That's all my comfort: a meere Hobby-horse
She made childe Rowland: s'foot she would not know him,
Not give him a free look, not reckon him,
Among her thoughts, which I held more then wonder,
I having seene her within's three dayes kisse him
With such an appetite as though she would eat him.

Petro.
There is some trick in this: how did he take it?

Mor.
Ready to cry; he ran away.

Petro.
I feare her.
And yet I tell you, ever to my anger,
She is as tame as Innocency; it may be
This blow was but a favour.

Mor.
Ile be sworne
'Twas well tye'd on then.

Petro.
Goe too, pray forget it,
I have bespoke a Priest: and within's two houres
Ile have ye married; will that please you?

Mor.
Yes.

Petro.
Ile see it done my selfe, and give the Lady
Such a sound exhortation for this knavery
Ile warrant you, shall make her smell this Moneth on't,

Mor.
Nay good sir, be not violent.

Petro.
Neither—

Mor.
It may be
Out of her earnest love, there grew a longing
(As you know women have such toyes) in kindnesse,
To give me a box o'th eare or so.

Petro.
It may be.

Mor.
I reckon for the best still: this night then
I shall enjoy her.

Petro.
You shall hansell her.

Mor.
Old as I am, i'le give her one blow for't
Shall make her groane this twelve-moneth.

Petro.
Where's your joynture?

Mor.
I have a joynture for her.

Petro.
Have your Councell
Perus'd it yet?

Mor.
No Councell, but the night, and your sweet daughter
Shall ere peruse that Joynture.

Petro.
Very well sir.

Moro.
Ile no demurrers on't nor no rejoynders.
The other's ready seal'd.

Petro.
Come then let's comfort
My Son Petruchio, he's like little Children
That loose their Bables, crying ripe.

Mor.
Pray tell me,
Is this stern woman still upon the flaunt
Of bold defiance?

Petro.
Still, and still she shall be
Till she be starv'd out: you shall see such justice,
That women shall be glad after this tempest

To tye their husbands shooes, and walke their horses;
That were a merry world: doe you heare the rumour,
They say the women are in Insurrection,
And meane to make a—

Petro.
They'l sooner
Draw upon walls as we doe: Let 'em, let 'em,
We'l ship 'em out in Cuck-stooles, there they'l saile
As brave Columbus did, till they discover
The happy Islands of obedience.
We stay too long, Come.

Mor.
Now Saint George be with us. Exeunt.

Scæna Secunda. Enter Livia alone

Liv.
Now if I can but get in hansomely,
Father I shall deceive you, and this night
For all your private plotting, i'le no wedlock;
I have shifted saile, and finde my Sisters safety
A sure retirement; pray to heaven that Rowland
Do not beleeve too farre, what I said to him,
For y'on old Foxcase forc'd me, that's my feare.
Stay, let me see, this quarter fierce Petruchio
Keepes with his Myrmidons: I must be suddaine,
If he seize on me, I can looke for nothing
But Marshall Law; to this place have I scap'd him;
Above there. Enter Maria, and Byancha above.

Mar.
Cheval'a.

Liv.
A Friend.

By.
Who are you?

Liv.
Looke out and know.

Mar.
Alas poore wench who sent thee,
What weake foole made thy tongue his Orator?
I know you come to parly.

Liv.
Y'are deceiv'd,
Urg'd by the goodness of your cause I come
To doe as you doe.

Mar.
Y'are too weake, too foolish,
To cheat us with your smoothnesse: doe not we know
Thou hast been kept up tame?

Liv.
Beleeve me.

Mar.
No, prethee good Livia
Utter thy Eloquence somewhere else.

By.
Good Cosen
Put up your Pipes; we are not for your palat,
Alas we know who sent you.

Liv.
O' my word—

By.
Stay there; you must not thinke your word,
Or by your Maydenhead, or such Sonday oathes
Sworne after Even-Song, can inveigle us
To loose our hand-fast: did their wisdomes thinke
That sent you hither, we would be so foolish,
To entertaine our gentle Sister Sinon,
And give her credit, while the woodden Jade
Petruchio stole upon us: no good Sister,
Goe home, and tell the merry Greekes that sent you,
Lium shall burn, and I, as did Æneas,
will on my back, spite of the Myrmidons,
Carry this warlike Lady, and through Seas
Unknown, and unbeleev'd, seek out a Land,
Where like a race of noble Amazons,
We'le root our selves and to our endlesse glory
Live, and despise base men.

Liv.
Ile second ye.

By.
How long have you been thus?

Liv.
That's all one Cosen.
I stand for freedome now.

By.
Take heed of lying;
For by this light, if we doe credit you,
And finde you tripping, his infliction
That kill'd the Prince of Orenge, will be sport
To what we purpose.

Liv.
Let me feele the heaviest.

Mar.
Swear by thy Sweet-heart Rowland (for by your mayden-head,
I feare 'twill be too late to swear) you meane
Nothing but faire and safe, and honourable
To us, and to your selfe.

Liv.
I sweare.

By.
Stay yet,
Sweare as you hate Moroso, that's the surest,
And as you have a certaine feare to finde him
Worse then a poore dride Jack, full of more Aches
Then Autumne has; more knavery, and usury,
And foolery, and brokery, then doggs-ditch:
As you doe constantly beleeve he's nothing
But an old empty bagge with a grey beard,
And that beard such a Bob-taile, that it lookes
Worse then a Mares taile eaten off with Fillyes:
As you acknowledge, that young hansome wench
That lyes by such a Bilbo blade, that bends
With ev'ry passe he makes to'th hilts, most miserable,
A dry nurse to his Coughes, a fewterer
To such a nasty fellow, a rob'd thing
Of all delights youth lookes for: and to end,
One cast away on course beef, born to brush
That everlasting Cassock that has worne
As many Servants out, as the Northeast passage
Has consum'd Saylors: if you sweare this, and truly
Without the reservation of a gowne
Or any meritorious Petticoate,
'Tis like we shall beleeve you.

Liv.
I doe sweare it.

Mar.
Stay yet a little; came this wholesome motion
(Deale truly Sister) from your own opinion,
Or some suggestion of the Foe?

Liv.
Nev'r feare me,
For by that little faith I have in husbands,
And the great zeale I beare your cause, I come
Full of that liberty, you stand for, Sister.

Mar.
If we beleeve, and you prove recreant Livia,
Think what a maym you give the noble Cause
We now stand up for: Thinke what women shall
An hundred yeare hence speak thee, when examples
Are look'd for, and so great ones, whose relations
Spoke as we doe th'em wench, shall make new customs.

By.
If you be false, repent, goe home, and pray,
And to the serious women of the City
Confesse your selfe; bring not a sinne so heynous
To load thy soule, to this place: mark me Livia,
If thou bee'st double, and betray'st our honours,
And we fail in our purpose: get thee where
There is no women living, nor no hope
There ever shall be.

Mar.
If a Mothers daughter,
That ever heard the name of stubborn husband
Found thee, and know thy sinne.

By.
Nay, if old age,
One that has worne away the name of woman,
And no more left to know her by, but railing,
No teeth, nor eyes nor legges, but woodden ones
Come but i'th wind-ward of thee, for sure she'l smell thee
Thou'lt be so ranck, she'l ride thee like a night-mare,
And say her Prayers back-ward to undoe thee,
She'l curse thy meat and drink, and when thou marriest,

Clap a sound spell for ever on thy pleasures.

Mar.
Children of five yeare old, like little Fayries
Will pinch thee into motley, all that ever
Shall live, and heare of thee, I meane all women;
Will (like so many furies) shake their Keyes,
And tosse their flaming distaffes o're their heads,
Crying Revenge: take heed, 'tis hideous:
Oh 'tis a fearefull office, if thou had'st
(Though thou bee'st perfect now) when thou cam'st hither,
A false Imagination, get thee gone,
And as my learned Cozen said repent,
This place is sought by soundnesse.

Liv.
So I seeke it,
Or let me be a most despis'd example.

Mar.
I doe beleeve thee, be thou worthy of it.
You come not empty?

Liv.
No, Here's Cakes, and cold meat,
And tripe of proofe: behold here's wine, and beere,
Be suddaine, I shall be surpriz'd else.

Mar.
Meet at the low Parlor doore, there lyes a close way:
What fond obedience you have living in you,
Or duty to a man, before you enter,
Fling it away, 'twill but defile our Offrings.

By.
Be wary as you come,

Liv.
I warrant ye. Exeunt.

Scæna Tertia. Enter three Maides.

1 Mai.
How goes your businesse Girles?

2
A foot, and faire.

3
If fortune favour us: away to your strength
The Country Forces are ariv'd, be gone.
We are discover'd else.

1
Arme, and be valiant.

2
Think of our cause.

3
Our Justice.

1
'Tis sufficient. Exeunt.

Scæna quarta. Enter Rowland and Tranio at severall doores.

Tra.
Now Rowland?

Row.
How yoe you?

Tra.
How do'st thou man,
Thou look'st ill:

Row.
Yes, pray can you tell me Tranio,
Who knew the devill first?

Tra.
A woman.

Row.
Thou hast heard I am sure of Esculapius.
So were they not well acquainted?

Tra.
May be so,
For they had certaine Dialogues together.

Row.
He sold her fruit, I take it?

Tra.
Yes, and Cheese
That choak'd all mankinde after.

Row.
Canst thou tell me
Whether that woman ever had a faith
After she had eaten?

Tra.
That's a Schoole question

Row.
No
'Tis no question, for beleeve me Tranio,
That cold fruit after eating bread naught in her
But windy promises, and chollick vowes
That broke out both wayes.

Row.
Thou ha'st heard I am sure
Of Esculapius, a farre famed Surgeon,
One that could set together quarter'd Traytors,
And make 'em honest men.

Tra.
How do'st thou Rowland?

Row.
Let him but take, (if he dare doe a cure
Shall get him fame indeed) a faithlesse woman,
There will be credit for him, that will speake him,
A broken woman Tranio, a base woman,
And if he can cure such a rack of honour
Let him come here, and practise.

Tra.
Now for honours sake
Why what ayl'st thou Rowland?

Row.
I am ridden Tranio.
And Spur-gald to the life of patience
(Heaven keepe my wits together) by a thing
Our worst thoughts are too noble for, a woman.

Tra.
Your Mistresse has a little frown'd it may be?

Row.
She was my Mistresse.

Tra.
Is she not?

Row.
No Tranio.
She has done me such disgrace, so spitefully,
So like a woman bent to my undoing,
That henceforth a good horse shall be my Mistresse,
A good Sword, or a Booke: and if you see her,
Tell her I doe beseech you, even for love sake.—

Tra.
I will Rowland.

Row.
She may sooner
Count the good I have thought her,
Our old love and our friend-ship,
Shed one true teare, meane one houre constantly,
Be old, and honest, married, and a maide,
Then make me see her more, or more beleeve her:
And now I have met a Messenger, farewell sir. Exit.

Tra.
Alas poore Rowland, I will doe it for thee:
This is that dogge Moroso, but I hope
To see him cold i'th mouth first 'er he enjoy her:
Ile watch this young man, desperate thoughts may seize him,
And if my purse, or councell can, i'le ease him. Exit

Scæna quinta. Enter Petruchio, Petronius, Moroso, and Sophocles.

Petru.
For looke you Gentlemen, say that I grant her
Out of my free and liberall love, a pardon,
Which you and all men else know she deserves not,
(Teneatis amici) can all the world leave laughing?

Petro.
I thinke not.

Petru.
No by—they cannot;
For pray consider, have you ever read,
Or heard of, or can any man imagine.
So stiffe a Tomb-boy, of so set a malice,
And such a brazen resolution,
As this young Crab-tree? and then answer me,
And marke but this too friends, without a cause,
Not a foule word comes crosse her, not a feare,
She justly can take hold on, and doe you thinke
I must sleepe out my anger, and endure it,
Sow pillows to her ease, and lull her mischiefe?
Give me a Spindle first: no, no my Masters,
Were she as faire as Nell a Greece, and house-wife,
As good as the wise Saylors wife, and young still,
Never above fifteene; and these tricks to it,
She should ride the wild Mare once a week, she should.

(Believe me friends she should) I would tabor her,
Till all the Legions that are crept into her,
Flew out with fire i'th tailes.

Soph.
Methinks you erre now,
For to me seems, a little sufferance
Were a far surer cure.

Petru.
Yes, I can suffer,
Where I see promises of peace and amendment.

Mor.
Give her a few conditions.

Petru.
Ile be hangd first.

Petron.
Give her a crab-tree-cudgell.

Petru.
So I will;
And after it a flock-bed for her bones.
And hard egges, till they brace her like a Drum,
She shall be pamperd with—
She shall not know a stoole in ten moneths Gentlemen.

Soph.
This must not be. Enter Jaques.

Jaq.
Arme, arme, out with your weapons,
For all the women in the Kingdom's on ye; Enter Pedro.
They swarm like waspes, and nothing can destroy 'em,
But stopping of their hive, and smothering of 'em.

Ped.
Stand to your guard sir, all the devils extant
Are broke upon us, like a cloud of thunder;
There are more women, marching hitherward,
In rescue of my Mistris, then ere turn'd taile
At Sturbridge Faire; and I believe, as fiery.

Jaq.
The forlorn-hope's led by a Tanners wife,
I know her by her hide; a desperate woman:
She flead her husband in her youth, and made
Raynes of his hide to ride the Parish. Take 'em all together,
They are a genealogy of Jennets, gotten
And born thus, by the boysterous breath of husbands;
They serve sure, and are swift to catch occasion,
(I meane their foes, or husbands) by the fore-locks,
And there they hang like favours; cry they can,
But more for Noble spight, then feare: and crying
Like the old Gyants that were foes to Heaven,
They heave ye stoole on stoole, and fling main Potlids
Like massie rocks, dart ladles, tossing Irons,
And tongs like Thunderbolts, till overlayd,
They fall beneath the waight; yet still aspiring
At those Emperious Codheads, that would tame 'em.
There's nere a one of these, the worst and weakest,
(Choose where you will) but dare attempt the raysing
Against the soveraigne peace of Puritans,
A May-pole, and a Morris, maugre mainly
Their zeale, and Dudgeon-daggers: and yet more,
Dares plant a stand of battring Ale against 'em,
And drinke 'em out o'th Parish.

Soph.
Lo you fierce Petruchio, this comes of your impatience.

Ped.
There's one brought in the Beares against the Canons
Of the Town, made it good, and fought 'em.

Jaq.
Another, to her everlasting fame, erected
Two Ale-houses of ease: the quarter-sessions
Running against her roundly; in which businesse
Two of the disannullers lost their night-caps:
A third stood excommunicate by the cudgell.
The Cunstable, to her eternall glory,
Drunke hard, and was converted, and she victor.

Ped.
Then are they victualed with pies and puddings,
(The trappings of good stomacks) noble Ale
the true defendor, Sawsages, and smoak'd ones,
If need be, such as serve for Pikes; and Porke,
(Better the Jewes never hated:) here and there
A bottle of Metheglin, a stout Britaine
That wil stand to 'em; what else they want, they war for.

Petru.
Come to councell,

Soph.
Now you must grant conditions or the Kingdom
Will have no other talke but this.

Petron.
Away then, and let's advise the best.

Soph:
Why doe you tremble?

Mor.
Have I liv'd thus long to be knockt o'th head,
With halfe a washing beetle? pray be wise sir.

Petru.

Come, something Ile doe; but what it is I know not.

Soph.
To councel then, and let's avoyd their follies.
Guard all the doors, or we shal not have a cloke left. Exe. Enter three mayds, at severall doors.

1.
How goes the businesse; girles?

2.
A foot, and faire.

3.
If fortune favour us: away to your strength,
The Country forces are ariv'd; be gon we are discovered else.

1.
Arme, and be valiant.

2.
Think of our cause.

3.
Our iustice.

1.
Tis sufficient. Exeunt

Scena tertia. Enter Petronius, Petruchio. Moroso, Sophocles, and Tranio.

Petro.
I am indifferent, though I must confesse,
I had rather see her carted.

Tra.
No more of that sir.

Soph.
Are ye resolv'd to give her fair conditions?
Twill be the safest way.

Petru.
I am distracted,
Would I had run my head into a halter
When I first woo'd her: if I offer peace,
She'l urge her own conditions, that's the devil.

Soph.
Why say she do?

Petru:
Say, I am made an Asse, then;
I know her aime: may I with reputation
(Answer me this) with safety of mine honour,
(After the mighty mannage of my first wife,
Which was indeed a fury to this Filly,
After my twelve strong labours to reclaime her,
Which would have made Don Hercules horn mad,
And hid him in his hide) suffer this Sicely,
Ere she have warm'd my sheets, ere grappel'd with me,
This Pinck, this painted Foyst, this Cockle-boat,
To hang her Fights out, and defie me friends,
A wel known man of war? if this be equal,
And I may suffer, say, and I have done?

Petron.
I do not think you may.

Tra.
You'l make it worse sir.

Soph.
Pray heare me good Petruchio: but ev'n now,
You were contented to give all conditions,
To try how far she would carry: Tis a folly,
(And you wil find it so) to clap the curb on,
Er you be sure it proves a naturall wildnesse,
And not a forc'd. Give her conditions,
For on my life this tricke is put into her.

Petron.
I should believe so too.

Soph.
And not her own.

Tra.
You'l finde it so.

Soph.
Then if she flownder with you,
Clap spurs on, and in this you'l deale with temperance,
Avoyd the hurry of the world.

Tra.
And loose Musick above.

Mor.
No honour on my life, sir.

Petru.
I wil do it.

Petron.
It seems they are very merry. Enter Jaques.

Petru.
Why God hold it.

Mor.
Now Jaques?

Jaq.
They are i'th flaunt, sir.

Soph.
Yes we heare 'em.

Jaq.
They have got a stick of Fiddles, and they sirke it
In wondrous waies, the two grand Capitanos,
(They brought the Auxiliary Regiments)
Daunce with their coats tuckt up to their bare breeches,
And bid them kisse 'em, that's the burden;
They have got Metheglin, and audacious Ale,
And talke like Tyrants.

Petron.
How knowest thou?

Jaq.
I peep't in Song!
At a loose Lansket.

Tra.
Harke.

Petron.
A Song, pray silence. All the women above.

Mor.
They look out.

Petru.
Good ev'n Ladies.

Mar.
Good you good ev'n sir.

Petru.
How have you slept to night?

Mar.
Exceeding well sir.

Petru.
Did you not wish me with you?

Mar:
No, believe me,
I never thought upon you.

Cun.
Is that he?

Bya.
Yes.

Cun.
Sir?

Soph.
She has drunk hard, mark her hood.

Cun.
You are—

Soph.
Learnedly drunk, Ile hang else: let her utter.

Cun.
And I must tell you, viva voce friend,
A very foolish fellow.

Tra.
There's an Ale figure.

Petru.
I thank you Susan Brotes.

Cit.
Forward sister.

Cun.
You have espoused here a hearty woman,
A comely, and couragious.

Petru.
Wel I have so.

Cun.
And to the comfort of distressed damsels,
Weomen out-worn in wedlock, and such vessels,
This woman has defied you.

Petru.
It should seem so.

Cun.
And why?

Petru.
Yes, can you tell?

Cun.
For thirteen causes.

Petru.
Pray by your patience Mistris.

Cit.
Forward sister.

Petru.
Do you mean to treat of all these?

Cit.
Who shall let her?

Petro.
Doe you heare, Velvet-hood, we come not now
To heare your doctrine.

Cunt.
For the first, I take it,
It doth divide it selfe into seven branches.

Petru.
Harke you good Maria,
Have you got a Catechiser here?

Tra.
Good zeale.

Soph.
Good three pil'd predication, will you peace,
And heare the cause we come for?

Cunt.
Yes Bob-tailes
We know the cause you come for, here's the cause,
But never hope to carry her, never dream
Or flatter your opinions with a thought
Of base repentance in her.

Cit.
Give me sack,
By this, and next strong Ale.

Cun.
Sweare forward sister.

Cit.
By all that's cordiall, in this place we'l bury
Our bones, fames, tongues, our triumphs; and then all
That ever yet was chronicl'd of woman;
But this brave wench, this excellent despiser,
This bane of dull obedience, shall inherit
His liberall wil, and march off with conditions
Noble, and worth her selfe.

Cun.
She shall Tom Tilers,
And brave ones too; My hood shal make a hearse-cloth,
And I lie under it, like Jone o Gaunt,
Ere I goe lesse, my Distaffe stucke up by me,
For the eternall Trophee of my conquests;
And loud fame at my head, with two main Bottles,
Shall fill to all the world the glorious fall
Of old Don Gillian.

Cit.
Yet a little further,
We have taken Armes in rescue of this Lady;
Most just and Noble: if ye beat us off
Without conditions, and we recant,
Use us as we deserve; and first degrade us
Of all our ancient chambring: next that
The Symbols of our secrecy, silke Stockings,
Hew of our heeles; our petticotes of Armes
Teare of our bodies, and our Bodkins breake
Over our coward heads.

Cun.
And ever after
To make the tainture most notorious,
At all our Crests, videlicet our Plackets.
Let Laces hang, and we returne againe
Into our former titles, Dayry maids.

Petru.
No more wars: puissant Ladies, shew conditions,
And freely I accept 'em.

Mar.
Call in Livia;
She's in the treaty too. Enter Livia above.

Mor.
How, Livia?

Mar.
Heare you that sir?
There's the conditions for ye, pray peruse 'em.

Petron.
Yes, there she is: t'had been no right rebellion,
Had she held off; what think you man?

Mor.
Nay nothing.
I have enough o'th prospect: o'my conscience,
The worlds end, and the goodnesse of a woman
Will come together.

Petron.
Are you there sweet Lady?

Liv.
Cry you mercy sir, I saw you not: your blessing.

Petron.
Yes, when I blesse a jade, that stumbles with me.
How are the Articles?

Liv.
This is for you sir;
And I shal think upon't.

Mor.
You have us'd me finely.

Liv.
There's no other use of thee now extant,
But to be hung up; cassock, cap, and all,
For some strange monster at Apothecaries.

Petron.
I heare you whore.

Liv.
It must be his then sir,
For need wil then compell me.

Cit.
Blessing on thee.

Liv.
He wil undoe me in meere pans of Coles
To make him lustie.

Petron.
There's no talking to 'em;
How are they sir?

Petru.
As I expected: Liberty and clothes, Reads.
When, and in what way she wil: continuall moneys,
Company, and all the house at her dispose;
No tongue to say, why is this? or whether wil it;
New Coaches, and some buildings, she appoints here;
Hangings, and hunting-horses: and for Plate
And Jewels for her private use, I take it,
Two thousand pound in present: then for Musick,
And women to read French;

Petron.
This must not be.

Petru.
And at the latter end a clause put in,
That Livia shal by no man be importun'd.

This whole moneth yet, to marry.

Petron.
This is monstrous.

Petru.
This shall be done, Ile humor her awhile:
If nothing but repentance, and undoing
Can win her love, Ile make a shift for one.

Soph.
When ye are once a bed, all these conditions
Lie under your own seale.

Mar.
Do you like 'em?

Petru.
Yes.
And by that faith I gave you fore the Priest
Ile ratifie 'em.

Cun.
Stay, what pledges?

Mar.
No, Ile take that oath;
But have a care you keep it.

Cit.
Tis not now
As when Andrea liv'd.

Cun.
If you do juggle,
Or alter but a Letter of these Articles
We have set down, the self-same persecution.

Mar.
Mistrust him not.

Petru.
By all my honesty—

Mar.
Enough, I yield.

Petron.
What's this
Inserted here?

Soph.
That the two valiant women that command here
Shall have a Supper made em, and a large one,
And liberall entertainment without grudging,
And pay for all their Souldiers.

Petru.
That shall be too;
And if a tun of Wine wil serve to pay 'em,
They shall have justice: I ordaine ye all
Pay-masters, Gentlemen.

Tra.
Then we shall have sport boyes.

Mar.
We'l meet you in the Parlour.

Petru.
Ne'r looke sad sir, for I will doe it.

Soph.
There's no danger in't.

Petru.
For Livia's Article, you shall observe it,
I have tyde my selfe.

Petron.
I wil.

Petru.
Along then: now
Either I break, or this stiffe plant must bow. Exeunt.

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