Wend you with this Letter:
Command these fretting waters from your eies
With a light heart; trust not my holie Order
If I peruert your course: whose heere?
Enter Lucio.
Luc. Good' euen;
Frier, where's the Prouost?
Duke. Not within Sir
Luc. Oh prettie Isabella, I am pale at mine heart, to
see thine eyes so red: thou must be patient; I am faine
to dine and sup with water and bran: I dare not for my
head fill my belly. One fruitful Meale would set mee
too't: but they say the Duke will be heere to Morrow.
By my troth Isabell I lou'd thy brother, if the olde fantastical
Duke of darke corners had bene at home, he had
liued
Duke. Sir, the Duke is marueilous little beholding
to your reports, but the best is, he liues not in them
Luc. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so wel as I
do: he's a better woodman then thou tak'st him for
Duke. Well: you'l answer this one day. Fare ye well
Luc. Nay tarrie, Ile go along with thee,
I can tel thee pretty tales of the Duke
Duke. You haue told me too many of him already sir
if they be true: if not true, none were enough
Lucio. I was once before him for getting a Wench
with childe
Duke. Did you such a thing?
Luc. Yes marrie did I; but I was faine to forswear it,
They would else haue married me to the rotten Medler
Duke. Sir your company is fairer then honest, rest you
well
Lucio. By my troth Ile go with thee to the lanes end:
if baudy talke offend you, wee'l haue very litle of it: nay
Friar, I am a kind of Burre, I shal sticke.
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