_Rut._ Me thinks both excellent,
Would I were the next heir.

_Arn._ To this mad fortune
Am I now come, my Marriage is proclaim'd,
And nothing can redeem me from this mischief.

_Rut._ She's very young.

_Arn._ Yes.

_Rut._ And fair I dare proclaim her,
Else mine eyes fail.

_Arn._ Fair as the bud unblasted.

_Rut._ I cannot blame him then, if 'twere mine own case,
I would not go an Ace less.

_Arn._ Fye _Rutilio_,
Why do you make your brothers misery
Your sport and game?

_Rut._ There is no pastime like it.

_Arn._ I look'd for your advice, your timely Counsel,
How to avoid this blow, not to be mockt at,
And my afflictions jeer'd.