Well honest _Andrew_, I gave you a farme,
And it shall have a beacon to give warning
To my other Tenants when the Foe approaches;
And presently, you being bestowed else where,
Ile graffe it with dexteritie on your forehead;
Indeed I will _Lilly_. I come poore _Andrew_. _Exit._
_Actus IV. Scaena II._
_Enter_ Miramont, Andrew.
Do they chafe roundly? _And._ As they were rubb'd with soap, Sir,
And now they sweare alowd, now calme again,
Like a ring of bells whose sound the wind still alters,
And then they sit in councel what to doe,
And then they jar againe what shall be done;
They talke of Warrants from the Parliament,
Complaints to the King, and forces from the Province,
They have a thousand heads in a thousand minutes,
Yet nere a one head worth a head of garlick.
_Mir._ Long may they chafe, and long may we laugh at 'em,
A couple of pure puppies yok'd together.
But what sayes the young Courtier Master _Eustace_,
And his two warlike friends? _And._ They say but little,
How much they think I know not; they looke ruefully,
As if they had newly come from a vaulting house,
And had beene quite shot through 'tween winde and water
By a she Dunkirke, and had sprung a leake, Sir.
Certaine my master was too blame. _Mir._ Why _Andrew_?
_And._ To take away the Wench oth' sudden from him,
And give him no lawful warning, he is tender;
And of a young girles constitution, Sir,
Readie to get the greene sickness with conceit;
Had he but tane his leave innavailing language,
Or bought an Elegie of his condolement,
That th' world might have tane notice, he had beene
An Asse, 't had beene some favour.
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