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.