Short. And 'tis thought you have it.

Fran. I think I have.

Short. Then hold it fast, 'tis not fly-blown, you may pay for the poundage, you forget your self, I have not seen a Gentleman so backward, a wanting Gentleman.

Fran. Your mercy, Sir.

Short. Friend, you have mercy, a whole bag full of mercy, be merry with it, and be wise.

Fran. I would fain, if it please you, but know—

Short. It does not please me, tell over your money, and be not mad, Boy.

Val. You have no more such bags?

Short. More such there are, Sir, but few I fear for you, I have cast your water, you have wit, you need no money.[Exit.

Lan. Be not amazed, Sir, 'tis good gold, good old gold, this is restorative, and in good time, it comes to do you good, keep it and use it, let honest fingers feel it, yours be too quick Sir.

Fran. He named me, and he gave it me, but from whom.

Lan. Let 'em send more, and then examine it, this can be but a

Fran. Being a stranger, of whom can I deserve this?

Lan. Sir, of any man that has but eyes, and manly understanding to find mens wants, good men are bound to do so.

Val. Now you see, Frank, there are more wayes than certainties, now you believe: What Plough brought you this Harvest, what sale of Timber, Coals, or what Annuities? These feed no Hinds, nor wait the expectation of Quarterdaies, you see it showers in to you, you are an Ass, lie plodding, and lie fooling, about this Blazing Star, and that bo-peep, whining, and fasting, to find the natural reason why a Dog turns twice about before he lie down, what use of these, or what joy in Annuities, where every man's thy study, and thy Tenant, I am ashamed on thee.

Lan. Yes, I have seen this fellow, there's a wealthy Widow hard by.

Val. Yes marry is there.

Lan. I think he's her servant, or I am couzen'd else, I am sure on't.

Fran. I am glad on't.

Lan. She's a good Woman.

Fran. I am gladder.

Lan. And young enough believe.

Fran. I am gladder of all, Sir.

Val. Frank, you shall lye with me soon.

Fran. I thank my money.

Lan. His money shall lie with me, three in a Bed, Sir, will be too much this weather.

Val. Meet me at the Mermaid, and thou shalt see what things—

Lan. Trust to your self Sir.[Exeunt Fran. and Val.

Enter Fount. Bella. and Valentine.

Fount. O Valentine!

Val. How now, why do you look so?

Bella. The Widow's going, man.

Val. Why let her go, man.

Hare. She's going out o'th' Town.

Val. The Town's the happier, I would they were all gone.

Fount. We cannot come to speak with her.

Val. Not to speak to her?

Bel. She will be gone within this hour, either now Val.

Fount. Hare. Now, now, now, good Val.

Val. I had rather march i'th' mouth o'th' Cannon, but adiew, if she be above ground, go, away to your prayers, away I say, away, she shall be spoken withall. [Exeunt.

Enter Shorthose with one boot on, Roger,and Humphrey.

Rog. She will go, Shorthose.

Short. Who can help it Roger?

Raph. [within.] Help down with the hangings.

Rog. By and by Raph. I am making up o'th' trunks here.

Raph. Shorthose.

Short. Well.

Raph. Who looks to my Ladys wardrobe? Humphrey.

Hum. Here.

Raph. Down with the boxes in the gallery, and bring away the Coach cushions.

Short. Will it not rain, no conjuring abroad, nor no devices to stop this journey?

Rog. Why go now, why now, why o'th' sudden now? what preparation, what horses have we ready, what provision laid in i'th' Country?

Hum. Not an egge I hope.

Rog. No nor one drop of good drink boyes, there's the devil.

Short. I heartily pray the malt be musty, and then we must come up again.

Hum. What sayes the Steward?

Rog. He's at's wits end, for some four hours since, out of his haste and providence, he mistook the Millars mangie mare, for his own nagge.

Short. And she may break his neck, and save the journy. Oh London how I love thee!

Hum. I have no boots nor none I'le buy: or if I had, refuse me if I would venture my ability, before a Cloak-Bag, men are men.

Short. For my part, if I be brought, as I know it will be aimed at, to carry any durty dairy Cream-pot, or any gentle Lady of the Laundry, Chambring, or wantonness behind my Gelding, with all her Streamers, Knapsacks, Glasses, Gugawes, as if I were a running flippery, I'le give 'em leave to cut my girts, and slay me. I'le not be troubled with their Distibations, at every half miles end, I understand my self, and am resolved.

Hum. To morrow night at Olivers! who shall be there boys, who shall meet the wenches?

Rog. The well brew'd stand of Ale, we should have met at!

Short. These griefs like to another Tale of Troy, would mollifie the hearts of barbarous people, and Tom Butcher weep, Aeneas enters, and now the town's lost.

Raph. Well whither run you, my Lady is mad.

Short. I would she were in Bedlam.

Raph. The carts are come, no hands to help to load 'em? the stuff lies in the hall, the plate. [Within Widow.] Why knaves there, where be these idle fellows?

Short. Shall I ride with one Boot?

Wid. Why where I say?

Raph. Away, away, it must be so.

Short. O for a tickling storm, to last but ten days. [Exeunt.

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Isabella, and Luce.

Luc. By my troth Mistris I did it for the best.

Isab. It may be so, but Luce, you have a tongue, a dish of meat in your mouth, which if it were minced Luce, would do a great deal better.

Luce. I protest Mistress.

Isab. It will be your own one time or other: Walter.

Walter [within.] Anon forsooth.

Isab. Lay my hat ready, my fan and cloak, you are so full of providence; and Walter, tuck up my little box behind the Coach, and bid my maid make ready, my sweet service to your good Lady Mistress; and my dog, good let the Coachman carry him.

Luce. But hear me.

Isab. I am in love sweet Luce, and you are so skilfull, that I must needs undo my self; and hear me, let Oliver pack up my Glass discreetly, and see my Curles well carried. O sweet Luce, you have a tongue, and open tongues have open you know what, Luce.

Luce. Pray you be satisfied.

Isab. Yes and contented too, before I leave you: there's a Roger, which some call a Butcher, I speak of certainties, I do not fish Luce, nay do not stare, I have a tongue can talk too: and a Green Chamber Luce, a back door opens to a long Gallerie; there was a night Luce, do you perceive, do you perceive me yet? O do you blush Luce? a Friday night I saw your Saint,