Poor saint! why wert thou yok'd thus with a devil? [_Aside_.

[_Exeunt_ Y. ART. _and_ Y. LUS.

MRS ART. If thou wilt win my heart, die suddenly!
But that my soul was bought at such a rate,
At such a high price as my Saviour's blood,
I would not stick to lose it with a stab;
But, virtue, banish all such fantasies.
He is my husband, and I love him well;
Next to my own soul's health I tender him,
And would give all the pleasures of the world
To buy his love, if I might purchase it.
I'll follow him, and like a servant wait,
And strive by all means to prevent his hate.
[_Exit_.


_Enter_ OLD MASTER ARTHUR _and_ OLD MASTER LUSAM.

O. ART. This is my son's house; were it best go in?
How say you, Master Lusam?

O. LUS. How? Go in? How say you, sir?

O. ART. I say 'tis best.

O. LUS. Ay, sir, say you so? so say I too.

O. ART. Nay, nay, it is not best; I'll tell you why.