My dearest coz, I pray you, school yourself: but for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o’ the season. I dare not speak much further; But cruel are the times, when we are traitors And do not know ourselves, when we hold rumour From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, But float upon a wild and violent sea Each way and move. I take my leave of you: Shall not be long but I’ll be here again: Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward To what they were before. My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you!

I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace and your discomfort: I take my leave at once. Exit.

Sirrah, your father’s dead: And what will you do now? How will you live?

Poor bird! thou’ldst never fear the net nor lime, The pitfall nor the gin.