Enter Demetrius.

Leo.  What a Devil ails the Woman? here comes the Prince again,
With such a sadness on his face, as sorrow,
Sorrow her self but poorly imitates. 
Sorrow of Sorrows on that heart that caus’d it.

Dem.  Why might she not be false and treacherous to me? 
And found so by my Father? she was a Woman,
And many a one of that Sex, young and fair,
As full of faith as she, have fallen, and foully.

Leo.  It is a Wench!  O that I knew the circumstance.

Dem.  Why might not, to preserve me from this ruine,
She having lost her honour, and abused me,
My father change the forms o’th’ coins, and execute
His anger on a fault she ne’r committed,
Only to keep me safe? why should I think so? 
She never was to me, but all obedience,
Sweetness, and love.

Leo.  How heartily he weeps now!  I have not wept this thirty years, and upward; But now, if I should be hang’d I cannot hold from’t It grieves me to the heart.

Dem.  Who’s that that mocks me?

Leo.  A plague of him that mocks ye:  I grieve truly,
Truly, and heartily to see you thus, Sir: 
And if it lay in my power, gods are my witness,
Who e’r he be that took your sweet peace from you;
I am not so old yet, nor want I spirit—­

Dem.No more of that, no more Leontius, Revenges are the gods:  our part is sufferance:  Farewell, I shall not see thee long.

Leo.  Good Sir, tell me the cause, I know there is a woman in’t; Do you hold me faithful? dare you trust your Souldier?  Sweet Prince, the cause?

Dem.  I must not, dare not tell it, And as thou art an honest man, enquire not.

Leo.  Will ye be merry then?

Dem.  I am wondrous merry.

Leo.  ’Tis wondrous well:  you think now this becomes ye.  Shame on’t, it does not, Sir, it shews not handsomely; If I were thus; you would swear I were an Ass straight; A wooden ass; whine for a Wench?

Dem.  Prithee leave me.

Leo.  I will not leave ye for a tit.

Dem.  Leontius?

Leo.  For that you may have any where for six pence, And a dear penny-worth too.

Dem.  Nay, then you are troublesome.

Leo.  Not half so troublesom as you are to your self, Sir;
Was that brave Heart made to pant for a placket: 
And now i’th’ dog-days too, when nothing dare love! 
That noble Mind to melt away and moulder
For a hey nonny, nonny!  Would I had a Glass here,
To shew ye what a pretty toy ye are turn’d to.

Dem.  My wretched Fortune.

Leo.  Will ye but let me know her? 
I’ll once turn Bawd:  go to, they are good mens offices,
And not so contemptible as we take ’em for: 
And if she be above ground, and a Woman;
I ask no more; I’ll bring her o’ my back, Sir,
By this hand I will, and I had as lieve bring the Devil,
I care not who she be, nor where I have her;
And in your arms, or the next Bed deliver her,
Which you think fittest, and when you have danc’d your galliard.