Mess.
O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself;
My master and his man are both broke loose,
Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor,
Whose beard they have sing'd off with brands of fire;
And ever as it blaz'd, they threw on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair;
My master preaches patience to him, and the while
His man with scissars nicks him like a fool:
And, sure, unless you send some present help,
Between them they will kill the conjurer.

Adr.
Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here,
And that is false, thou dost report to us.

Mess.
Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true;
I have not breath'd almost, since I did see it.
He cries for you, and vows if he can take you,
^{1 note}To scorch your face, and to disfigure you. [Cry within.
Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone.

Duke.
Come, stand by me, fear nothing: guard with halberds,

Adr.
Ay me, it is my husbond; witness you,
That he is borne about invisible!
Ev'n now we hous'd him in the abbey here,
And now he's there, past thought of human reason.

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