_Bri._ Doe, or never
Hope I shall know thee. _Le._ O Sir, have I found you? [_Exeunt._
_Ent. Lewis._
_Bri._ I never hid my selfe, whence flows this fury?
With which as it appeares, you come to fright me.
_Lew._ I smell a plot, meere conspiracy
Among ye all to defeate me of my daughter,
And if she be not suddenly delivered,
Untainted in her reputation too,
The best of France shall know how I am juggled with.
She is my heire, and if she may be ravisht
Thus from my care, farewel Nobilitie;
Honour and blood are meer neglected nothings.
_Bri._ Nay then, my Lord you go too far, and tax him
Whose innocencie understands not what feare is;
If your unconstant daughter will not dwell
On certainties, must you thenceforth conclude,
That I am fickle? What have I omitted,
To make good my integritie and truth?
Nor can her lightnesse, nor your supposition
Cast an aspersion on me. _Lew._ I am wounded
In fact, nor can words cure it: doe not trifle,
But speedilie, once more I doe repeate it,
Restore my daughter as I brought her hither.
Or you shall heare from me in such a kinde,
As you will blush to answer. _Bri._ all the world
I think conspires to vex me, yet I will not
Torment my selfe; some spriteful mirth must banish
The rage and melancholie which hath almost choak'd me,
T'a knowing man tis Physick, and tis thought on,
One merrie houre Ile have in spight of fortune,
To cheare my heart, and this is that appointed,
This night Ile hugge my _Lilly_ in mine armes,
Provocatives are sent before to cheare me;
We old men need 'em, and though we pay deare,
For our stolne pleasures, so it be done securely;
The charge much like a sharp sawce gives 'm relish.
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