Bel. Did not I tell you? Let ’em be what can be,
Saints, devils, anything, they will abuse us.
Thou wert an ass to believe her so long, a coxcomb;
Give ’em a minute, they’ll abuse whole millions.

Mir. And am not I a rare physician, gentlemen,
That can cure desperate mad minds?

De Ga. Be not insolent.

Mir. Well, go thy ways: From this hour I disclaim thee,
Unless thou hast a trick above this; then I’ll love thee.
You owe me for your cure.—Pray have a care of her,
For fear she fall into a relapse.—Come, Belleur;
We’ll set up bills to cure diseased virgins.

Bel. Shall we be merry?

Mir. Yes.

Bel. But I’ll no more projects:
If we could make ’em mad, it were some mastery!

[Exeunt.

Lil. I am glad she is well again.

Ros. So am I, certain.—
Be not ashamed.

Ori. I shall never see a man more.

De Ga. Come, you’re a fool! had you but told me this trick,
He should not have gloried thus.

Lug. He shall not long, neither.

La Ca. Be ruled, and be at peace: You have my consent,
And what power I can work with.

Nant. Come, leave blushing;
We are your friends: An honest way compell’d you.
Heaven will not see so true a love unrecompensed.
Come in, and slight him too.

Lug. The next shall hit him.

[Exeunt.