I must enjoy her,
And my prophetique love tells me I shall,
Lend me but your assistance.

_Ars_.

Give it o're.

_Mil_.

I would not have thee fool'd.
_Lea_. I have strange Engines
Fashioning here: and _Bartolus_ on the Anvil,
Disswade me not, but help me.

_Mil_.

Take your fortune,
If you come off well, praise your wit; if not,
Expect to be the subject of our Laughter.

[_Exeunt_.




SCENA II.

_Enter_ Octavio, _and_ Jacinta.