_Rut._ Mark, mark her eyes still; mark but the carriage of 'em.
_Guio._ How happy am I now, since my Son fell,
He fell not by a base unnoble hand!
As that still troubled me; how far more happy
Shall my revenge be, since the Sacrifice,
I offer to his grave, shall be both worthy
A Sons untimely loss, and a Mothers sorrow!
_Rut._ Sir, I am made believe it; she is mine own,
I told you what a spell I carried with me,
All this time does she spend in contemplation
Of that unmatch'd delight: I shall be thankfull to ye;
And if you please to know my house, to use it;
To take it for your own.
_Guio._ Who waits without there?
_Enter_ Guard, _and_ Servants, _they seize upon_ Rut. _and bind him._
_Rut._ How now? what means this, Lady?
_Guio._ Bind him fast.
_Rut._ Are these the bride-laces you prepare for me?
The colours that you give?
_Dua._ Fye Gentle Lady,
This is not noble dealing.
_Guio._ Be you satisfied,
I[t] seems you are a stranger to this meaning,
You shall not be so long.
_Rut._ Do you call this wooing--Is there no end of womens persecutions?
Must I needs fool into mine own destruction?
Have I not had fair warnings, and enough too?
Still pick the Devils teeth? you are not mad Lady;
Do I come fairly, and like a Gentleman,
To offer you that honour?
_Guio.
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