WIT without MONEY.  
A comedy, As it hath been Presented with good Applause at the private house in drury Lane, by her Majesties Servants.  
Written by 

Francis Beamount,  
and John fletcher.   Gent.  
LONDON Printed by Thomas coats, for Andrew Crooke, and William cook. 1639.   

The Actors names.  

valentine, a Gallant that will not bee persuaded to keep his estate.  
Franscisco, his younger brother.  
Master Lovegood their Uncle.  
A Merchant, friend to Master Lovegood.  
fountain, companions of valentine, and suitors to the widow.  
Bellamore, companions of valentine, and suitors to the widow.  
harebrain, companions of valentine, and suitors to the widow.  
Lance a Faulkoner, and an ancient servant to Vallentines Father.  
Shorthose the clown,& servant to the widow  
Roger, Ralph,& Humphrey, three servants to the widow.  
Three Servants. musicans.  
Lady Hartwell a widow.  
Isabell her Sister.  
luke a waiting Gentlewoman to the widow.    

WIT without MONEY.  

Actus 1.  

Scaena 1.  Enter uncle and Merchant. Merchant. 
WHen saw you Vallentine.  Uncle. 
Not since the Horserace, he's taken up with those that wooe the widow.  Mer. 
How can he live by snatches from such people, he bore a worthy mind.  Unc. 
Alas, he's sunk, his means are gone, he wants, and which is worse,  
Takes a delight in doing so.  Mer. 
Thats strange.  Unc. 
Runs lunatic, if you but talk of states, he cannot be brought now he has spent his own, to think theres inheritance, or means, but all a common riches, all men bound to be his bailiffs:  Mer. 
This is something dangerous.  Unc. 
No Gent. that has estate to use, it in keeping house, or followers, for those ways he cries against, for eating sins, dull surfeits, cramming of serving men, mustering of beggars, maintain hospitals for Kites, and curs, grounding their fat faiths upon old country proverbs, God bless the founders; these he would have vented into more manly uses, Wit and carriage, and never thinks of state, or means, the ground works: holding it monstrous, men should feed their bodies, and starve their understandings.  Mer. 
Thats most certain.  Vnc. 
Yes, if he could stay there.  Mer. 
Why let him mary, and that way rise again.  Vnc. 
Its most impossible, he will not look with any hansomenesse upon a woman.  Mer. 
Is he so strange to women.  Vnc. 
I know not what it is, a foolish glory he has got, I know not where, to baulk those benefits, and yet he will converse and flatter um, make um, or faire, or foul, rugged, or smooth, as his impression serves, for he affirms, they are onely lumps, and undigested pieces, licked over to a form, by our affections, and then they show; The lovers let um pass.  Enter Fount. Bella. hair. Mer. 
He might be one, he carries as much promise; they are wondrous merry.  Vnc. 
O their hopes are high sir.  Fount. 
Is valentine come to town.  Bella. 
Last night I heard.  Fou. 
We miss him monstrously in our directions, for this widow, is as stately, and as crafty, and stands I warrant you.  hair. 
Let her stand sure, she falls before us else, come lets go seek valentine.  Mer. 
This widow seems a gallant:  Vnc. 
A goodly woman, and to her hansomnesse she bears her state, reserved, and great Fortune has made her mistress of a full means, and well she knows to use it.  Mer. 
I would Vallentine had her.  Vnc. 
Theres no hope of that Sir.  Mer. 
A that condition, he had his mortgage in again.  Vnc. 
I would he had.  Mer. 
seek means, and see what Ile do, however let the money be paid in, I never sought a Gentlemans undoing, nor eat the bread of other mens vexations, the mortgage shall be rendered back, take time fort, you  told me of another brother:  Vnc. 
Yes sir, more miserable then he, for he has eat him, and drunk him up, a handsome Gentleman, and a fine scholar.  Enter three tenants. Mer. 
What are these?  Vnc. 
The tenants, th'ie do what they can,  Mer. 
It is well prepared, be earnest honest friends and loud upon him, he is deaf to his own good.  Lance. 
We mean to tell him part of our mindes ant please you.  Mer. 
do, and do it home, and in what my care may help, or my persuasions when we meet next.  Vnc. 
do but persuade him fairly; and for your money, mine, and these mens thankes too, and what we can be able:  Mer. 
Yare most honest, you shall find me no less, and so I leave you, prosper your business my friends. Exit Merchant  Unc. 
Pray heaven it may sir:  Lance. 
Nay if he will be mad, Ile be mad with him, and tell him that Ile not spare him, his Father kept good meate, good drink, good fellowes, good hawks, good hounds, and bid his neighbours welcome; kept him too, and supplied his prodigality, yet kept his state still, must wee turn tenants now, after we have lived under the race of Gentry, and maintained good yeomantry, to some of the City, to a great shoulder of Mutton, and a Custard, and have our state turned into cabbage Gardens, must it be so:  Vnc. 
You must be milder to him.  Lance. 
Thats as he makes his game:  Vnc. 
entreat him lovingly, and make him feel:  Lance. 
Ile pinch him to the bones else.  Vallen. 
Within. And tell the Gentleman, Ile be with him presently, say I want money too, I must not fail boy.  Lance. 
Youle want clothes, I hope.  Enter Vallentine: Vall. 
Bid the young Courtier repair to me anon, Ile read to him.  Unc. 
He comes, be diligent, but not too rugged, start him, but affright him not.  Vall. 
Phew are you there?  Vnc. 
We come to see you Nephew, be not angry;  Val. 
Why do you dog me thus, with these strange people, why all the world shall never make me rich more, nor master of these troubles.  tenants. 
We beseech you for our poor childrens sake.  Val. 
Who bid you get um: have you not thrashing work enough, but children must be baugd out oth' sheaf too, other men with all their delicates, and healthful diets, can get but wind eggs: you with a clove of garlic a piece of cheese would break a saw, and sour milk, and I must maintain these tumblers.  Lance. 
You ought to maintain us, wee have maintained you, and when you slept provided for you; who bought the silk you wear, I think our labours; reckon, youle find it so: who found your horses perpetual pots of ale, maintained your taverns, and who extolled you in the half crown boxes, where you might sit and mu●… er all the beauties, wee had no band in these, no we are puppies:  
Your tenants base vexations.  Vall. 
Very well sir.  Lance. 
Had you Land, and honest men to serve your purposes, honest, and faithful, and will you run away from um, betray yourself, and your poor tribe to misery; mortgage all us, like old cloaks; where will you hunt next you had a thousand acres, faire and open: The Kings bench is enclosed, thers no good riding, the Cou●ter is full of thorns and brakes, take heed sir, and bogs, youle quickly find what broth they're made of.  Val. 
Yare short and pithy.  Lance 
They say yare a fine Gentleman, and excellent judgement, they report you have a wit; keep yourself out oth rain and take your cloak with you, which by interpretation is your state sir or I shall think your famed belied you, you have money and may have means.  Val. 
I prithee leave prating, does my good lie within thy brain to further, or my undoing in thy pitty: go, go, get you home, there whistle to your horses, and let them edify, away, sow hemp, and hang yourselves withall, what am I to you, or you to me; am I your Landlord puppies?  Vnc. 
This is uncivil.  Val. 
More unmerciful you, to vex me with these bacon broth and puddings, they are the walking shapes of all my sorrows:  3. tenants. 
Your Fathers Worship, would have used us better.  Val. 
My Fathers worship, was a fool.  Lance. 
Hey, hey boyes, old valentine i'faith, the old boy still.  Unc. 
Fie cousin.  Val. 
I mean besotted to his state, he had never left me the misery of so much means else, which till I sold was a mere migraine to me: If you will talk, turn out these tenements, they are as killing to my nature uncle, as water to a fever.  Lance. 
We will go, but it is like rams to come again the stronger, and you shall keep your state:  Val. 
Thou liest, I will not.  Lance. 
sweet sir, thou liest, thou shalt, and so good morrow. Exeunt tenants.  Val. 
This was my man, and of a noble breeding, now to your business uncle.  Unc. 
To your state then.  Val, 
Tis gone, and I am glad on't, name it no more, tis that I pray against, and heaven has heard me, I tell you sir, I am more fearful of it, I mean of thinking of more lands, or livings, then sickly men are traveling a sundays, for being quelled with carriers out upont caveat emptor, let the fool out sweat it that thinks he has got a catch out.  Unc. 
This is madness to be a wilful beggar.  Va. 
I am mad then and so I mean to be, will that content you, how bravely now I live, how jocund, how near the first inheritance, without fears, how free from title troubles.  Unc. 
And from means too.  Val. 
means, why all good men's my means, my wits my plow, the towns my stock, taverns my standing house, and all the world knows theres no want, all Gentlemen that love society, love me; all purses that wit and pleasure opens, are my tenants; every mans clothes fit me, the next faire lodging, is but my next remove, and when I please to remove; and when I please to be more eminent, and take the air, a piece, is levied, and a Coach prepared, and I go I care not whether, what need state here.  Vnc. 
But say these means were honest, will they last sir.  Val. 
Far longer then your jerkin, and wear fairer, should I take ought of you, tis true, I begged now, or which is worse then that, I stolen a kindness, and which is worst of all, I lost my way int, your mindes enclosed, nothing lies open nobly, your very thoughts are hide, that work on nothing but daily sweat, and trouble: were my way so full of dirt as this, tis true I shifted; are my acquaintance graziers: but sir, know no man that I am allied too, in my living, but makes it equal, whether his own use, or my necessity pull first, nor is this forced, but the mere quality and poysure of goodness, and do you think I venture nothing equal.  Vnc. 
You pose me cousin.  Val. 
Whats my knowledge uncle, ist not worth money, whats my understanding, my travel, reading, wit, all these digested, my daily making men, some to speak, that too much phlegm had frozen up, some other that spoken too much to hold their peace, and put their tongues to pensions, some to wear their clothes, and some to keep um, these are nothing uncle; besides these ways, to teach the way of nature, a manly love, community to all that are deservers, not examining how much, or whats done for them, tis wicked, and such a one like you, chewes his thoughts double, making um onely food for his repentance.  Enter two servants. 1. Ser. 
This cloak and hat sir, and my Masters love.  Val. 
Commend's to thy Master, and take that, and leave um at my lodging.  1. Ser. 
I shall do it sir.  Val. 
I do not think of these things:  2. Ser. 
Please you sir, I have gold here for you.  Val. 
Give it me, drink that and commend me to thy Master; look you uncle, do I beg these:  Vnc. 
No sure tis your worth sir.  Val. 
Tis like enough, but pray satisfy men, are not these ways as honest as persecuting the starved inheritance, with musty corn, the very rats were fain to run away from, or selling rotten wood by the pound, like spices, which Gentlemen do after burn byth ounces, do not I know your way of feeding beasts, with grains, and windy stuff, to blow up butchers, your racking pastures, that have eaten up as many singing Shepherds, and their issues, as Andeluria breeds; these are authentic, I tell you sir, I would not change ways with you, unless it were to sell your state, that hour, and if it were possible to spend it then too, for all your beans in Rumnillo, now you know me.  Vnc. 
I would you knew yourself, but since you are grown such a strange enemy, to all that fits you, give me leave to make your brothers fortune.  Val. 
How?  Vnc. 
From your mortgage, which yet you may recover, Ile find the means.  Val. 
Pray save your labour sir, my brother and myself, will run one fortune, and I think what I hold a mere vexation, cannot be safe from him, I love him better, he has wit at will, the world has means, he shall live without this trick of state, we are heires both, and all the world before us.  Unc. 
My last offer, and then I am gone.  Val. 
What ist, and then Ile answer.  Unc. 
What think you of a Wife yet to restore you, and tell me seriously without these trifles.  Val. 
And you can find one, that can please my fancy, you shall not find me stubborn.  Unc. 
speak your woman.  Val. 
One without eyes, that is self commendations, for when they find they are handsome, they are unholsome, one without ears, not giving time to flatterers, for shee that hears herself commended, wavers, and points men out a way to make um wicked, one without substance of herself, that woman without the pleasure of her life, thats wanton, though she be young, forgetting it, though faire, making her glass the eyes of honest men, not her own admiration, all her ends obedience all her houres new blessings, if there may be such a woman:  Vnc. 
Yes there may be.  Val. 
And without state too.  Unc. 
You are disposed to trifle, well, fare you well sir, when you want me next, youle seek me out a better sense.  Val. 
Farewell uncle, and as you love your estate, let not me hear on't.  Vnc, 

It shall not trouble you, Ile watch him still,  
And when his friends fall of, then bend his will. Exit.   Enter Isabella, and luke. luke. 
I know the cause of all this sadness now, your sister has engrossed all the brave lovers.  Isab. 
Shee has wherewithal, much good may do her, prithee speak softly, we are open to mens ears:  luke. 
fear not, we are safe, we may see all that pass, hear all, and make ourselves merry with their language, and yet stand undiscovered, bee not melancholy, you are as faire as shee.  Isab. 
Who I, I thank you, I am as hast ordained me, a thing slubberd, my sister is a goodly portly Lady, a woman of a presence, she spreads satin, as the Kings ships do canvas, every where she may spare me her misen, and her bonnets strike her main petticoat, and yet outsaile me, I am a Carvell to her.  luke. 
But a tight one:  Isab. 
She is excellent, well built too.  luke. 
And yet shees old.  Isab. 
Shee never saw above one voyage luke, and credit me after another, her hull will serve again, and a right good Merchant, shee plays and sings too, dances and discourses, comes very near essays a pretty poet, begins to piddle with philosophy, a subtle Chimicke wench, and can extract the spirit of mens estates, she has the light before her, and cannot miss her choice, for me tis reason, I wait my mean fortune.  luke. 
You are so bashful.  Isab. 
It is not at first word up and ride, thou art cozened, that would show mad I faith, besides, wee lose the mean part of our politic government, if we become provokers, then wee are faire, and fit for mens embraces, when like towns, they lye before us ages, yet not carried, hold out their strongest batteries, then compound too with the loss of honour, and march oft with our faire wedding: Colours flying, who are these?  Enter Franc. and Lance. luke. 
I know not, nor I care not.  Isab. 
prithee peace then, a well bult Gentleman.  luke. 
But poorly thatched.  Lance. 
Has he devoured you too?  Fran. 
Has gulped me down Lance.  Lance. 
Left you no means to study.  Fran. 
Not a farthing: dispatched my poor annuity I thank him, heres all the hope I have left, one bare ten shillings.  Lan. 
You are fit for great mens services.  Fran. 
I am fit, but who'll take me, thus mens miseries are now accounted stains in their natures, I have traveled, and I have studied long, observed all kingdoms, know all the promises of Art and manners, yet that I am not bold, nor cannot flatter, I shall not thrive, all these are but vain Studies, art thou so rich as to get me a lodging Lance.  Lan. 
Ile sell the titles of my house else, my Horse, my hawk, nay 's death Ile pawn my wife: Oh Mr. Francis, that I should see your Fathers house fall thus.  Isab. 
An honest fellow.  Lan. 
Your Fathers house, that fed me, that bread up all my name.  Isab. 
A grateful fellow.  Lan. 
And fall by.  Fran. 
Peace, I know you are angry Lance, but I must not hear with whom, he is my brother,& though you hold him slight, my most dear brother: A gentleman excepting some few rubs, he were too excellent to live here else, fraughted as deep with noble and brave parts, issues of a noble and manly spirit as any he a live, I must not hear you, though I am miserable, and he made me so, yet still he is my brother, still I love him, and to that tie of blood link my affections.  Isab. 
A noble nature, dost thou know him luke?  luke. 
No mistress.  Jsab. 
Thou shouldst ever know such good men, what a faire body and a mind, are married there together; did he not say he wanted.  luke. 
Whats that to you?  Isab. 
Tis true, but tis great pitty.  luke. 
How she changes, ten thousand more than he, as handsome men too.  Isab. 
Tis like enough, but as I live, this Gentleman among ten thousand thousand, is there no knowing him; why should he want? fellowes of no merit, slight and puffed souls, that walk like shadows, by leaving no print of what they are, or poise, let them complain.  luke. 
Her colour changes strangely.  Isah. 
This man was made, to mark his wants to waken us, alas poor Gentleman, but will that fledge him, keep him from could, believe me he is well bread, and cannot be but of a noble linnage, mark him, and mark him well.  luke. 
' Is a handsome man.  Isab. 
The sweetness of his sufferance sets him off, O luke, but whether go I.  luke. 
You cannot hid it.  Isa. 
I would he had what I can spare.  luke. 
Tis charitable.  Lance. 
Come sir, Ile see you lodged, you have tied my tongue fast, Ile steal before you want, tis but a hanging.  Isab. 
Thats a good fellow too, an honest fellow, why, this would move a ston, I must needs know; but that some other time. Exit Lance. and Fran.  luke. 
Is the wind there? that makes for me.  Isab. 
Come, I forgot a business.    

Actus 2.  

Scaena 1.  Enter widow and luke. Wid. 
MY sister, and a woman of so base a pitty, what was the fellow?  luke. 
Why an ordinary man Madam.  Wid. 
poor?  luke. 
poor enough, and no man knows from whence neither.  Wed. 
What could she see?  luke. 
Onely his misery, for else she might behold a hundred handsumer.  Wid. 
Did she change much.  luke. 
extremely, when he spoken, and then her pitty like an Orator, I fear her love framed such a commendation, and followed it so far, as made me wonder.  Wid. 
Is she so hot, or such a want of lovers, that shee must dote upon afflictions: why does shee not go romage all the Prisons, and there bestow her youth, bewray her wantonness, and fly her honour, common both to beggary; did she speak to him?  luke. 
No, he saw us not, but ever since, she hath been mainly troubled.  Wid. 
Was he young?  luke. 
Yes young enough.  Wid. 
And looked he like a gentleman.  luke. 
Like such a Gentleman, would pawn ten oaths for twelve pence.  Wid. 
My sister, and sink basely; this must not be, does she use means to know him?  luke. 
Yes Madam, and has employed a Squire called Shorthose.  Wid. 
O thats a precious Knave, keep all this private, but still be near her lodging; luke what you can gather by any means, let me understand, Ile stop her heat, and turn her charity another way, to bless herself first, be still close to her Councells, a beggar and a stranger, theres a blessedness, Ile none of that, I have a toy yet sister, shall tell you this is foul, and make you find it, and for your pains take you the last gown I wore, this makes me mad, but I shall force a remedy.  Enter fountain, Bellamore, harebrain, Vallentine. Foun. 
Sirra, we have so looked thee, and longed for thee, this widow is the strangest thing, the stateliest, and stands so much upon her excellencies.  Bella. 
She has put us off this month now, for an answer.  Hare. 
No man must visit her, nor look upon her, not say good morrow nor good even, till thats past.  Vall. 
She has found what doughty you are made of, and so kneads you, are you good at nothing, but these aftergames, I have  told you often enough what things they are, what precious things, these widows.  Hare. 
If we had um.  Val. 
Why the devil has not craft enough to woe um, there be three kindes of fools, mark this note gentlemen, mark it, and understand it.  Fount. 
Well, go forward.  Val. 
An Innocent, a Knave fool, a fool politic: the last of which are lovers, widow lovers.  Bella. 
Will you allow no Fortune?  Val. 
No such blind one.  Fount. 
We gave you reasons, why twas needful for us.  Val. 
As you are those fools, I did allow those reasons, but as my Schollers and companions damned um, do you know what it is to wooe a widow, answer me coolly now, and understandingly.  Hare. 
Why to lye with her, and to enjoy her wealth.  Val. 
Why there you are fools still, crafty to catch yourselves, pure politic fools, I looked for such an answer, once more hear me, it is to wed a widow, to be doubted mainly, whether the state you have be yours or no, are those old bootes you ride in, mark me, widows are long extents in Law upon news, livings upon their bodies winding-sheetes, they that enjoy um, lye but with dead mens monuments, and beget onely their own ill Epitaphs, Is not this plain now?  Bel. 
plain spoken.  Val. 
And plain truth, but if you'll needs do things of danger, do but loose yourselves, not any part concerns your understandings, for then you are Meacockes, fools, and miserable, march of a main, within an inch of a Fircug, turn me oth' to like a Weathercocke, kill every day a Sergeant for a twelve month, rob the exchequer, and burn all the rolls, and these will make a show.  Hare. 
And these are trifles.  Val. 
Considered to a widow, emmptie nothing, for here you venture but your persons, there the varnish of your persons, your discretions, why tis a monstrous thing to mary at all, especially as now tis made, me thinks a man, an understanding man, is more wise to me, and of a nobler tie, than all these trinkets, what do we get by women, but our senses, which is the rankest part about us satisfied, and when thats done what are we? Crest fallen cowards, what benefit can children be, but charges and disobedience, whats the love they render at one and twenty yeares; I pray die father; when they are young, they are like bells rung backward, nothing but noise, and giddiness, and come to yeares once, there drops a son, byth' sword in's Mistresses quarrel, a great joy to his parents: a daughter ripe too, grows high and lusty in her blood, must have a heating, runs away with a suppling hand Servingman, his twenty nobles spent, takes to a trade, and learns to spin mens hair off; theres another, and most are of this nature, will you mary?  Fount. 
For my parties, for any doubt I feel yet.  Val. 
And this same widow?  Fount. 
If I may, and me thinks, how ever you are pleased to dispute these dangers, such a warm match, and for you sir, were not hurtful.  Val. 
Not half so killing as for you, for me shee cannot with all the Art shee has, make me more miserable, or much more fortunate, I have no state left, a benefit that none of you can brag of, and theres the Antidote against a widow, nothing to lose, but that my soul inherits, which shee can neither law nor claw away to that, but little flesh, it were too much else; and that unholsome too, it were too rich else; and to all this contempt of what shee does J can laugh at her tears, neglect her angers, hear her without a faith, so pitty her as if shee were a traitor, moan her person, but deadly hate her pride; if you could do these, and had but this discretion and like fortune, it were but an equal venture.  Fount. 
This is malice.  Val. 
When shee lies with your land, and not with you, grows great with jointures, and is brought to bed with all the state you have, you'll find this certain; but is it come to pass you must mary, is there no buff will hold you.  Bel. 
Grant it be so.  Val. 
Then choose the tamer evil, take a maid, a maid not worth a penny; make her yours, knead her, and mould her yours, a maid worth nothing, theres a virtuous spell, in that word nothing; a maid makes conscience of half a crown a week for pings and puppits, a maid content with one Coach and two horses, not falling out because they are not matches; with one man satisfied, with one rain guided, with one faith, one content, one bed, aged shee makes the wife, preserves the famed and issue; a widow is a Christmas box that sweeps all.  Fount. 
Yet all this cannot sink us.  Val. 
You are my friends, and a I my loving friends, I spend your money, yet I deserve it too, you are my friends still, I ride your horses, when I want I sell um; I eat your meate, help to wear her linen, sometimes I make you drunk, and then you seal, for which Ile do you this commodity, be ruled, and let me try her, I will discover her, the truth is, I will never leave to trouble her, till I see through her, then if I find her worthy.  Hare. 
This was our meaning Valentine.  Val. 
Tis done then, I must want nothing.  Hare. 
Nothing but the woman.  Val. 
No jealousy, for when I mary, the devil must be wiser than I take him; and the flesh foolisher, comes lets to dinner, and when I am well whetted with wine, have at her.  Exeunt. Enter Isabella and luke. Isa. 
But art thou sure.  luke. 
No suerer then I heard.  Hare. 
That it was that flouting fellowes brother.  luke. 
Yes, Shorthose  told me so.  Hare. 
He did search out the truth.  luke. 
It seems he did.  Hare. 
Pre thee luke, call him hither, if he be no worse, I never repent my pitty, now sirra, what was he wee sent you after, the Gentleman ith black.  Enter Shorthose. Short. 
Ith torn black.  Isa. 
Yes, the same sir.  Short. 
What would your Worship with him.  Isa. 
Why my worship would know his name, and what he is.  Short. 
' Is nothing, he is a man, and yet he is no man.  Isa. 
You must needs play the fool;  Short. 
Tis my profession.  Isa. 
How is he a man, and no man.  Short. 
Hees a beggar, onely the sign of a man, the bush pulled down, which shows the house stands empty.  Isa. 
Whats his calling?  Short. 
They call him beggar:  Isa. 
Whats his kindred:  Short. 
beggars.  Isa. 
His worth.  Short. 
A learned beggar, a poor scholar:  Isa. 
How does he live.  Short. 
Like worms, he ears old books.  Isa. 
Is Vallentine his brother.  Short. 
His begging brother.  Isa. 
What may his name be?  Short. 
Orson.  Isa. 
Leave your fooling.  Short. 
You had as good say, leave your living.  Isa. 
Once more tell me his name directly:  Short. 
Ile be hanged first, unless I heard him christened, but I can tell what foolish people call him.  Jsa. 
What?  Short. 
Franscisco.  Isa. 
Where lies this learning sir?  Short. 
In Paules Church yard forsooth.  Isa. 
I mean that Gentleman, fool.  Short. 
O that fool, he lies in loose sheets every where, thats no where.  luke. 
You have gleand since you came to London, in the country Shorthose, you were an arrant fool, a dull could coxcomb, here every tavern teaches you, the pint pot has so belaboured you, with wit, your brave acquaintance that gives you ale, so fortified your mazzard, that now theres no talking to you.  Isa. 
Is much improved, a fellow, a fine discourser.  Short. 
I hope so, I have not waited at the tail of wit, so long to be an ass.  luke. 
But say now Shorthose, my Lady should remove into the country.  Short. 
I had as leeve she should remove to heaven, and as soon I would undertake to follow her.  luke. 
Where no old Charnico is, nor no anchovies, nor Master such a one, to meet at the Rose, and bring my Lady such a ones chief Chambermaide.  Isa. 
No bounce healths to this brave Lad, dear Shorthose, nor down oath knees to that illustrious Lady.  luke. 
No fidles, nor no lusty noise of drawer, carry this pottle to my father, Shorthose.  Isa. 
No plays, nor galley foistes, no strange ambassadors to run and wonder at, till thou beest oil, and then come home again, and lie bith Legend.  luke. 
Say she should go.  Short. 
If I say so, Ile bee hanged first, or if I thought shee would go:  luke. 
What?  Short. 
I would go with her.  luke. 
But Shorthose, where thy heart is:  Isa. 
do not fright him.  luke. 
By this hand Mistris tis a noise, a loud one too, and from her own mouth, presently to be gone too, but why, or to what end?  Short. 
May not a man die first, sheele give him so much time.  Isa. 
Gone oth' sudden; thou dost but jest, shee must not mock the Gentlemen.  luke. 
She has put them off a month, they dare not see her, believe me Mistris, what I hear I tell you.  Isa. 
Is this true wench, gone on so short a warning, what trick is this, she never  told me of it, it must not be: sirra, attend me presently, you know I have been a careful friend unto you, attend me in the hall, and next be faithful, cry not, we shall not go.  Short. 
Her Coach may crack. Exeunt.  Enter Vallentine, Francisco, and Lance. Vall. 
Which way to live, how darest thou come to town, to ask such an idle question.  Fran. 
Me thinks tis necessary, unless you could restore that annuity you have tippled up in taverns:  Val, 
Where hast thou been, and how brought up Franscisco, that thou talkest thus out of France, thou wert a pretty fellow, and of a handsome knowledge; who has spoiled thee:  Lan. 
He that has spoiled himself, to make himself sport, and by his copy, will spoil all comes near him, buy but a glass, if you be yet so wealthy, and look there who?  Val. 
Well said old Coppihold.  Lan. 
My hearts good freehold sir, and so youle find it, this Gentleman your brother, your hopeful brother, for there is no hope of you, use him thereafter:  Val. 
Ene as well as I use myself, what wouldst thou have frank.  Fran. 
Can you procure me a hundred pound:  Lan. 
hark what he says to you, O try your wits, they say you are excellent at it, for your land has lain long bed rid, and unsensible.  Fran. 
And Ile forget all wrongs, you see my state, and to what wretchedness, your will has brought me; but what it may be, by this benefit, if timely done, and like a noble brother, both you and I may feel, and to our comforts:  Val. 
( A hundred pound) dost thou know what thou hast said boy:  Fran. 
I said a hundred pound.  Val. 
Thou hast said more, then any man can justify believe it, procure a hundred pounds, I say to thee, theres no such sum in nature, forty shillings there may be now ith Mint, and thats a treasure, I have seen five pound, but let me tell it, and tis as wonderful, as Calves with five legs, heres five shillings frank, the harvest of five weekes, and a good crop too, take it, and pay thy first fruits, Ile come down and eat it out.  Fran. 
Tis patience must meet with you sir, not love.  Lan. 
deal roundly, and leave these fiddle faddles:  Val. 
Leave thy prating, thou thinkest thou art a notable wise fellow, thou and thy rotten Sparrow hawk; two of the reverend.  Lan. 
I think you are mad, or if you be not will be, with the next moon, what would you have him do.  Val. 
How?  Lan. 
To get money first, thats to live, you have shewed him how to want.  Val. 
Slife, how do I live, why, what dull fool would ask that question, three hundred three pilds more, I and live bravely, the better half oath town, and live most gloriously, ask them what states they have, or what annuities, or when they pray for seasonable harvests, thou hast a handsome wit, stir into the world, frank, stir, for shane, thou art a pretty scholar, ask how to live, writ, writ, writ any thing, the worlds a fine believing world, writ news.  Lan. 
Dragons in Sussex sir, or fiery battles seen in the air at Aspurge.  Val. 
Theres the way frank, and in the tail of these, fright me the kingdom with a sharp Prognostication, that shal scour them, dearth upon dearth, like leaven commodities, predictions of Sea breaches, warres, and want of herrings on our cost, with bloody noses.  Lan. 
whirl winds, that shall take of the top of Grantam steeple, and clap it on Poules, and after these, a I envoy to the city for their sins.  Val. 
Probatum est, thou canst not want a pension, go switch me up a Covey of young Schollers, theres twenty nobles, and two loads of coals, are not these ready ways. Cosmography thou art deeply red in, draw me a map from the mermaid, I mean a midnighe map to scape the watches, and such long senseless examinations, and Gentlemen shall feed thee, right good Gentlemen, I cannot stay long.  Lan. 
You have red learnedly, and would you have him follow these megeras, did you begin with ballads.  Fran. 
Well, J will leave you, J see my wants are grown ridiculous, yours may be so, I will not curse you neither; you may think, when these wanton fits are over, who bread me, and who ruined me, look to yourself sir, a providence J wait on.  Val. 
Thou art passionate, hast thou been brought up with girls.  Enter Shorthose with a bag. Short. 
Rest you merry Gentlemen.  Val. 
Not so merry as you suppose sir.  Short. 
Pray stay a while, and let me take a view of you, I may put my spoon into the wrong pottage pot else.  Val. 
Why wilt thou muster us.  Short. 
No you are not he, you are a thought too handsome.  Lan. 
Who wouldst thou speak withall, why dost thou peep so?  Short. 
I am looking birds nests, I can find none in your bush beard, J would speak with you black Gentleman.  Fran. 
With me my friend.  Short. 
Yes sure, and the best friend sir, it seems you spake withall this twelve moneths Gentleman, theres money for you.  Val. 
How?  Short. 
Theres none for you sir, be not so brief, not a penny, law how he itches at it, stand of, you stir my colour.  luke. 
Take it, tis money.  Short. 
You are too quick too, first be sure you have it, you seem to be a Faulckoner, but a foolish one.  Lan. 
Take it, and say nothing:  Short. 
You are cozened too, tis take it, and spent it.  Fran. 
From whom came it sir.  Short. 
Such another word, and you shall have none out.  Fran. 
J thank you sir, I doubly thank you.  Short. 
Well sir, then buy you better clothes, and get your hat dressed, and your Laundresse to wash your bootes white.  Fran. 
Pray stay sir, may you not be mistaken.  Short. 
I think I am, give me the money again, come quick, quick, quick.  Fran 
I would be loathe to render, till I am sure it bē so.  Short. 
hark in your ear, is not your name Franscisco.  Fran. 
Yes.  Short. 
Be quiet then, it may thunder a hundred times, before such stones fall; do not you need it.  Fran. 
Yes.  Short. 
And tis thought you have it.  Fran. 
I think I have.  Short. 
Then hold it fast, tis not flyblowne, you may pay for the poundage, you forget yourself, 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 name me, and he gave it me, but from whom.  Lan. 
Let um sand more, and then examine it, this can be but a preface.  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 ways then certainties, now you believe: What plow brought you this harvest, what sale of timber, coals, or what annuities, these feed no hinds, nor wait the expectation of quarter dayes, you see it showers into you, you are an ass, lye plodding, and lye fooleing, about this blazing star, and that bo peep, whyneing, and fasting, to find the natural reason why a dog turns twice about before he lye down, what use of these, or what joy in annuities, where every mans thy study, and thy tenant, I am ashamed on thee:  Lan. 
Yes I have seen this fellow, theres a wealthy widow hard by.  Val. 
Yes mary is there.  Lan. 
I think hes her servant, J am cozened if after her, I am sure ont.  Fran. 
I am glad ont.  Lan. 
Shees a good woman.  Fran. 
I am gladder:  Lan. 
And young enough believe.  Fran. 
I am gladder of all sir.  Val. 
frank, you shall lie with me soon.  Fran. 
I thank my money:  Lan. 
His money shall lye 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 yourself sir. Exeunt Fran, and Vall.  Enter Fount, Bella, and valentine. Fount. 
O valentine.  Val. 
How now, why do you look so.  Bella. 
The widows going man.  Val. 
Why let her go man.  Hare. 
Shees going out oth town.  Val. 
The towns 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 Valle.  Fount. 
Hare. Now, now, now, good Vall.  Val. 
I had rather march ith mouth oth Cannon, but adieu, 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& Humphrey. Rog. 
She will go Shorthose.  Short. 
Who can help it Roger?  Within Raphe. 
Roger help down with the hangings.  Rog. 
By and by ralph, I am making up oth trunckes here.  ralph. 
Shorthose.  Short. 
Well.  ralph. 
Who looks to my Ladies Wardrobe? Humphrey.  Hum. 
here.  ralph. 
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 oath sudden, now what preparation, what horses have we ready, what provision laid in ith Country.  Hum. 
Not an egg I hope.  Rog. 
No nor one drop of good drink boyes, ther's the devil.  Short. 
I hearty pray the malt be musty, and then we must come up again.  Hum. 
What says the Steward?  Rog. 
hes at's wits end, for some four houres since, out of his hast and providence, he mistook the Millers maunjey mere, for his own nag.  Short. 
And she may break his neck, and save the journey, oh London how I love thee.  Hum. 
I have no bootes, nor none Ile 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 dirty dairy cream pot, or any gentle Lady of the Laundry, chambering, or wantonness behind my gelding, with all her streamers, knapsackes, glasses, gugawes, as if I were a running slippery, Ile give um leave to cut my girts, and flay me. Ile not be troubled with their distibations, at every half miles end, I understand myself, and am resolved.  Hum. 
To morrow night at Olivers, who shal be there boyes, who shall meet the wenches.  Rog. 
The well brewed stand of Ale, we should have met at.  Short. 
These griefs like to another tale of Troy, would mollify the hearts of barbarous people, and Tom Butcher weep Eneas enters, and now the towns lost.  Ral. 
Why whether run you, my Lady is mad.  Short. 
I would she were in Bedlam.  Ral. 
The carts are come, no hands to help to load um, the stuff lies in the hall, the plate:  Within widow. 
Why knaves there, where be these idle fellowes  Short. 
Shall I ride with one boot.  Wid. 
Why where I say:  Ral. 
Away, away, it must be so.  Short. 
O for a tickling storm, to last but ten dayes. Exeunt    

Actus. 3.  

Scaen, 1.  Enter Isabella and luke. luke. 
BY my troth Mistris I did it for the best:  Isa. 
It may be so, but luke, you have a tongue: a dish of meate in your mouth, which if it were minced luke, would do a great deal better.  luke. 
I protest mistress.  Isa. 
It will be your own one time or others: Walter.  Walter within: 
Anon forsooth.  Isa. 
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.  luke. 
But hear me.  Isa. 
I am in love sweet luke, and you are so skilful, that I must needs undo myself; and hear me, let Oliver pack up my glass discreetly, and see my curls well carried, O sweet luke, you have a tongue, and open tongues have open you know what luke.  luke. 
Pray you be satisfied.  Isa. 
Yes and contented too, before I leave you: theres a Roger, which some call a Butcher, I speak of certainties, I do not fish luke, nay do not stare, I have a tongue can talk too: and a green Chamber luke, a back door opens to a long gallery; there was a night luke, do you perceive, do you perceive me yet: O do you blushy luke: a Friday night I saw your Saint luke; for tother box of Marmaladde, alls thine sweet Roger, this I heard and kept too.  luke. 
Ene as you are a woman mistress.  Isa. 
This I allow as good and physical sometimes these meetings, and for the cheering of the heart; but luke, to have your own turn served, and to your friend to be a dogbolt.  luke. 
I confess it mistress.  Isa. 
As you have made my sister jealous of me, and foolishly, and childishly pursued it, I have found out your haunt, and traced your purposes, for which mine honour suffers, your best ways must be applied to bring her back again, and seriously and suddenly, that so I may have a means to clear myself, and she a faire opinion of me, else you peevish—  luke. 
My power and prayers mistress.  Isa. 
Whats the matter.  Enter Shorthose and widow. Short. 
I have been with the Gentleman, he has it, much good may do him with it.  Wid. 
Come are you ready, you love so to delay time, the day grows on.  Isa. 
I have sent for a few trifles, when those are come; And now I know your reason.  Wid. 
Know your own honour then, about your business, see the Coach ready presently, Ile tell you more then;  Exit luke and Shorthose. 
And understand it well, you must not think my sister, so tender eyed as not to see your follies, alas I know your heart, and must imagine, and truly too; tis not your charity can coin such sums to give a way as you have done, in that you have no wisdom Isabel, no nor modesty where nobler uses are at home; I tell you, I am ashamed to find this in your yeares, far more in your discretion, none to choose but things for pity, none to seal your thoughts on, but one of no abiding, of no name; nothing to bring you but this, could and hunger: A jolly jointure sister, you are happy, no money, no not ten shillings.  Isa. 
You search nearly.  Wid. 
I know it as I know your folly, one that know not where he shall eat his next meal, take his rest, unless it be in th● stocks; what kindred has he, but a more wanting brother, or what virtues.  Isa. 
You have had rare intelligence, I see sister.  Wid. 
Or say the man had virtue, is virtue in this age a full inheritance: what jointure can he make you, Plutarchs morals, or so much peenny rent in the small pots, this is not well, tis weak, and I grive to know it.  Isa. 
And this you quit the town for.  Wid. 
Its not time.  Isa. 
You are better red in my affairs than I am, thats all I have to answer, Ile go with you, and willingly, and what you think most dangerous, Ile sit and laugh at.  
For sister tis not folly but good discretion governs our main fortunes.  Wid. 
I am glad to hear you say so.  Isa. 
I am for you.  Enter Shorthose and Humphrey with riding rods. Hum. 
The devil cannot stay her, she'll ont, eat an egg now, and then we must away.  Short. 
I am gaulled already, yet I will pray may London ways from henceforth be full of holes, and Coaches crack their wheels, may zealous smiths so housell all our hackneys, that they may feel compunction in their feet, and tyre at Highgate, may it rain above all almanacs till carriers sail, and the Kings Fishmonger ride like Bike Arion upon a Trout to London.  Hum. 
At S. Albones, let all the inns be drunk, not an Host sober to bid her worship welcome.  Short. 
Not a Fiddle, but all preached down with Puritans; no meate but legs of beef.  Hum. 
No beds but Woollpackes.  Short. 
And those so crammed with warrens of sterved pleas that bite like bandogges: let Mims be angry at their S. Bellswagger, and we pass in the heat ont and be beaten, beaten abominably, beaten horse and man, and all my Ladies linen sprinkled with suddes and dish water.  Short. 
Not a wheel but out of joint.  Enter Roger laughing. Hum. 
Why dost thou laugh.  Rog. 
Theres a Gentleman, and the rarest Gentleman, and makes the rarest sport.  Short. 
Where, where?  Rog. 
Within here, has made the gayest sport with Tom the Coachman, so tewed him up with sack that he lies lashing a butt of Malmsie for his Mares.  Short. 
Tis very good.  Rog. 
And talks and laughs, and sings the rarest songs, and Shorthose, he has so mauled the read Deere pies, made such an alms ith butterie.  Short. 
Better still. Enter Vall. widow.  Hum. 
My Lady in a rage with the Gentleman.  Short. 
May he anger her into a feather. Exeunt.  Wid. 
I pray tell me, who sent you hither? for I imagine it is not your condition you look so temperately, and like a Gentleman, to ask me these mild questions.  Val. 
do you think I use to walk of errands gentle Lady, or deal with women out of dreams from others.  Wid. 
You have not known me sure?  Val. 
Not much.  Wid. 
What reason have you then to be so tender of my credit, you are no kinsman.  Val. 
If you take it so, the honest office that I came to do you, is not so heavy but I can return it: now I perceive you are too proud, not worth my visit.  Wid. 
Pray stay, a little proud.  Val. 
Monstrous proud, I grieve to hear a woman of your value, and your abundant parts stung by the people, but now J see tis true, you look upon me as if I were a rude and saucy fellow that borrowed all my breeding from a dunghill, or such a one, as should now fall and worship you in hope of pardon: you are cozened Lady, I came to prove opinion a loud liar, to see a woman onely great in goodness, and mistress of a greater famed than fortune, but—  Wid. 
You are a strange Gentleman, if I were proud now, I should be monstrous angry, which J am not, and show the effects of pride; I should despise you but you are welcome sir: To think well of ourselves, if we deserve it, is a lustre in us, and every good we have, strives to show gracious, what use is it else, old age like Seer trees, is seldom seen affencted, stirs sometimes at rehearsal of such acts his daring youth endeavoured.  Val. 
This is well, and now you speak to the purpose, you please me, but to be place proud:  Wid. 
If it be our own, why are we set here with distinction else, degrees, and orders given us, in you men, tis held a coolness if you lose your right afronts, and loss of honour: streets, and walls, and upper ends of tables, had they tongues could tell what blood has followed, and what fude about your ranks; are we so much below you, that till you have us, are the tops of nature, to be accounted drones, without a difference, you will make us beasts indeed.  Val. 
Nay worse then this too proud of your clothes, they swear a Mercers Lucifer, a tumer tacked together by a tailor, nay yet worse proud of read and white, a varnish that buttermilke can better.  Wid. 
Lord how little will vex these poor blind people, if my clothes be sometimes gay and glorious, does it follow my mind must be my Mercers too, or say my beauty please some weak eyes, must it please them to think that blows me up, that every hour blows of: this is an Infants anger.  Val. 
Thus they say too, what though you have a Coach lined through with velvet and four faire flanders Mares, why should the streets be troubled continually with you, till Carmen curse you, can there be ought in this but pride of show Lady, and pride of bum-beating, till the learned lawyers with their fat bags, are thrust against the bulks, till all their Cases crack; why should this Lady, and tother Lady, and the third sweet lady, and Madam at mile end, be daily visited, and your poorer neighbours, with course napses neglected, fashions conferred about, pouncings, and paintings, and young mens bodies red on like Anotamies.  Wid. 
You are very credulous, and somewhat desperate to deliver this sir, to her you know not, but you shall confess me, and find I will not start; in us all meetings lye open to these lewd reports, and our thoughts at Church, our very meditations some will swear, which all should fear to judge, at least uncharitably, are mingled with your memories, cannot sleep, but this sweet Gentleman swims in our fancies, that scarlet man of war, and that smooth signior; not dress our heads without new ambushes how to surprise that greatness or that glory; our very smiles are subject to constructions; nay sir, its come to this, we cannot pish, but tis a favour for some fool or other: should we examine you thus, wert not possible to take you without Prospectives.  Val. 
It may be, but these excuse not.  Wid. 
Nor yours force no truth sir. what deadly tongues you have, and to those tongues what hearts, and what inventions; ah my conscience, and 'twere not for sharp justice, you would venture to aim at your own mothers, and account it glory to say you had done so; all you think are counsels and cannot err, tis we still that show double, giddy, or gorged with passion; we that build Babells for mens confusions, we that scatter as day does his warm light; our killing curses over Gods creatures next to the devills malice: lets entreat your good words.  Val. 
Well, this woman has a brave soul.  Wid. 
Are not we gaily blessed then, and much beholding to you for your substance; you may do what you list, we what beseems us, and narrowly do that too, and precisely, our names are served in else at Ordinaries, and belched a broad in taverns.  Val. 
O most brave Wench, and able to redeem an age of women.  Wid. 
You are no Whoremasters, alas no Gentlemen, it were an impudency to think you vicious; you are so holy, handsome Ladies fright you, you are the cool things of the time, the temperance, mere emblems of the Law, and vales of virtue, you are not daily mending like Dutch Watches,& plastering like old walls; they are not Gentlemen, that with their secret sins increase our Surgeons, and lye in foreign Countries, for new sores; women are all these vices; you are not envious, false, covetous, vainglorious, irreligious, drunken, revengeful, giddie-eyed, like Parrats, eaters of others honours.  Val. 
You are angry.  Wid. 
No by my troth, and yet I could say more too, for when men make me angry, I am miserable.  Val. 
Sure tis a man she could not bear it thus bravely else, it may be I am tedious.  Wid. 
Not at all sir, I am content at this time you should trouble me.  Val. 
You are distrustful.  Wid. 
Where I find no truth sir.  Val. 
Come, come you are full of passion.  Wid. 
Some I have, I were too near the nature a god else.  Val. 
You are monstrous peevish.  Wid. 
Because they are monstrous foolish, and know not how to use that should try me.  Val. 
I was never answered thus, was you never drunk Lady?  Wid. 
No sure, not drunk sir? yet I love good wine as I love health and joy of heart, but temperately, why do you ask that question?  Val. 
For that sin that they most charge you with, is this sins servant, they say you are mostrous.  Wid. 
What sir, what?  Val. 
Most strangely.  Wid. 
It has a name sure.  Val. 
infinitely lustful, without all bounds, they swear you killed your husband.  Wid. 
Lets have it all for heavens sake, tis good mirth sir.  Val. 
They say you will have four now, and those four stuck in four quarters like four winds to cool you; will she not cry nor curse?  Wid. 
On with your Story,  Val. 
And that you are forcing out of dispensations with sums of money to that purpose.  Wid, 
four husbands, should not I be blessed sir; for example, Lord what should I do with them, turn a Malt mill, or tithe them out like town Bulls to my tenants, you come to make me angry, but you cannot.  Val. 
Ile make you merry then, you are a brave woman, and in despite of envy a right one, go thy ways, truth thou art as good a woman, as any Lord of them all can lay his leg over, I do not often commend your sex.  Wid. 
It seems so, your commendations are so studied for.  Val. 
I came to see you, and sift you into flower, to know your pureness, and I have found you excellent I thank you; continue so, and show men how to tread, and women how to follow: get an husband, an honest man, you are a good woman, and live hedged in from scandal, let him be too an understanding man, and to that steedfast; tis pity your faire Figure should miscarry, and then you are fixed, farewell.  Wid. 
Pray stay a little, I love your company now you are so pleasant, and to my disposition set so even.  Va. 
I can no longer. Exit.  Wid. 
As I live a fine fellow, this manly handsome bluntness, shows him honest; what is he, or from whence? bless me, four husbands, how prettily he fooled me into vices, to stir my jealousy and find my nature, a proper Gentleman, I am not well oth' sudden, such a companion I could live and die with, his angers are mere mirth. Enter Isabella.  Isa. 
Come, come, I am ready.  Wit 
Are you so?  Isa. 
What ails she, the Coach stays, and the people, the day goes on, I am as ready now as you desire sister: sie, who stays now, why do you sit and poute thus.  Wid. 
prithee be quiet, I am not well.  Isab. 
For heavens sake lets not ride staggering in the night, come, pray you take some sweet meats in your pocket, if your stomach—  Wid. 
I have a little business.  Isa. 
To abuse me, you shall not find new dreams, and new suspicions, to horse withall.  Wid. 
Lord who made you a Commander: hay ho, my heart.  Isa. 
Is the wind come thether, and coward like do you lose your colours to um, are you sick ●th Velentine; sweet sister, come lets away, the country will so quicken you, and we shall live so sweetly: luke, my Ladies cloak; nay, you have put me into such a gogge of going I would not stay for all the world; if I live here, you have so knocked this love into my head, that I shall love any body, and I find my body, I know not how, so apt; pray lets be gone sister, I stand on thorns.  Wid. 
I prithee Isabella, I faith I have some business that concerns me, I will suspect no more, here, wear that for me, and Ile pay the hundred pound you owe your tailor.  Enter Shorthose 1. Roger, Humphrey, Ralph. Isa. 
I had rather go, but—  Wid. 
Come walk within me, weele go to cards, unsadle the horses.  Short. 
A jubilee, a jubilee, we stay boyes. Exeunt.  Enter uncle, Lance, fountain, Bellamore, harebrain following. Unc. 
Are they behind us.  Lance. 
Close, close, speak aloud sir.  Vnc. 
I am glad my nephew has so much discretion at length to find his wants: did she entertain him.  Lance. 
Most bravely, nobly, and gave him such a welcome.  Vnc. 
For his own sake do you think.  Lance. 
Most certain sir, and in his own cause bestirred himself too, and wan such liking from her, she dotes on him, has the command of all the house already.  Vnc. 
He deals not well with his friends.  Lance. 
Let him deal on, and be his own friend, he has most need of her.  Vnc. 
I wonder they would put him.  Lance. 
You are in the right out, a man that must raise himself, I knew he would cousin um, and glad I am he has, he watched occasion. and found it ith' nick.  Unc. 
He has deceived me.  Lance. 
I  told you howsoever he weel'd about, he would charge whom at length, how I could laugh now, to think of these tame fools.  Unc. 
Twas not well done, because they trusted him, yet.  Bel. 
hark you Gentlemen.  Vnc. 
We are upon a business, pray excuse us, they have it home.  Lanc. 
Come let it work good on Gentlemen.  Exit uncle, Lance. Fount. 
Tis true, he is a knave, I ever thought it.  Hare. 
And we are fools, tame fools.  Bel. 
Come lets go seek him, he shall be hanged before he colt us basely. Exit. Enter Isabella, luke.  Isa. 
Art sure she loves him.  luke. 
Am I sure I live? And I have clap on such a commendation on your revenge.  Jsa. 
Faith, he is a pretty Gentleman.  luke. 
Handsome enough, and that her eye has found out.  Isa. 
He talks the best they say, and yet the maddest.  luke. 
Has the right way.  Isa. 
How is she?  luke. 
bears it well, as if she cared not, but a man may see with half an eye through all her forced behaviours, and find who is her Vallantine.  Isa. 
Come lets go see her, I long to prosecute.  luke. 
By no means mistress, let her take better hold first,  Isa. 
I could burst now. Exeunt.  Enter Vallentine, fountain, Bellamore, harebrain. Vall. 
upbraid me with your benefits, you Pilchers, you shotten, sold, slight fellowes, wast not I that undertook you first from empty barrels, and brought those barking mouths that gaped like bung-holes to utter sense: where got you understanding? who taught you manners and apt carriage to rank yourselves? who filled you in fit taverns, were those born with your worships when you came hither? what brought you from the universities of moment matter to allow you, besides your small bare sentences?  Bell. 
Tis well sir.  Val. 
Long cloaks with two hand-rapiers, boot-hoses with penny-poses, and twenty fools opinions, who looked on you but piping rites that knew you would be prising, and prentices in Paules Church-yard, that scented your want of Brittanes books. Enter widow, luke, harebrain.  Fount. 
This cannot save you.  Val. 
Taunt my integretie you whelps.  Bell. 
You may talk the stock wee gave you out, but see no further.  Hare. 
You tempt our patience, we have found you out, and what your trust comes to, year well feathered, thank us, and think now of an honest course, tis time; men now begin to look, and narrowly into your tumbling tricks, they are stale.  Wid. 
Is not that he?  luke. 
Tis he.  Wid. 
Be still and mark him.  Val. 
How miserable will these poor wretches be when I forsake um, but things have their neeessities, I am sorry, to what a vomit must they turn again now to their own dear dunghill breeding; never hope after I cast you off, you men of Motley, you most undone things below pity, any that has a soul and six pence dares relieve you, my name shall bar that blessing; theres your cloak sir, keep it close to you, it may yet preserve you a fortnight longer from the fool; your hat, pray be covered, and theres the satin that your worships sent me, will serve you at a sizer yet.  Fount. 
Nay faith sir, you may even rub these out now.  Val. 
No such relicke, nor the least rag of such a sordid weakness shall keep me warm, these breeches are mine own, purchased, and paid for, without your compassion, and Christian bleeches founded in black Friers, and so Ile maintain um.  Hare. 
So they seem sir.  Val. 
Onely the thirteen shillings in these breeches, and the odd groat, I take it, shall be yours sir, a mark to know a knave by, pray preserve it, do not displease me more, but take it presently, now help me off with my bootes.  Hare. 
We are no grooms sir.  Val. 
For once you shall be, do it willingly, or by this hand Ile make you.  Bell. 
To our own sir, we may apply our hands.  Val. 
Theres your hangers, you may deserve a strong pair, and a girdle will hold you without buckles; now I am perfect, and now the proudest of your worships tell me I am beholding to you.  Fount. 
No such matter.  Val. 
And take heed how you pitty me, tis dangerous, exceeding dangerous, to prate of pity which are the poorer; you are now puppies; I without you, or you without my knowledge be rogues, and so be gone, be rogues and reply not, for if you do—  Bell. 
Onely thus much, and then wee'll leave you, the air is far sharper than our anger sir, and these you may reserve to rail in warmer.  Hare. 
Pray have a care sir of your health. Exit Lovers.  Val. 
Yes hoghounds, more than you can have of your wits; tis could, and I am very sensible, extremely could too, yet I will not off, till I have shamed these rascals; I have endured as ill heats as another, and every way if one could perish my body, you'll bear the blame ont; I am colder here, not a poor penny left. uncle with a bag.  Unc. 
Tas taken rarely, and now hes flayed he will be ruled.  Lance. 
Too him, tew him, abuse him, and nip him close.  Vnc. 
Why how now cousin, sunning yourself this weather?  Val. 
As you see sir, in a hot fit, I thank my friends.  Unc. 
But cousin, where are your clothes man, those are no inheritance, your scruple may compound with those I take it, this is no fashion cousin.  Val. 
Not much followed, I must confess; yet uncle I determine to try what may be done next term.  Lance. 
How came you thus sir, for you are strangely moved.  Val. 
rags, toys and trifles, fit onely for those fools that first possessed um, and to those Knaves, they are rendered freemen uncle, ought to appear like innocents, old Adam, a faire Figge-leafe sufficient.  uncle. 
Take me with you, were these your friends, that cleared you thus.  Val. 
Hang friends, and even recknings that make friends.  Unc. 
I thought till now, there had been no such living, no such purchase, for all the rest is labour, as a list of honourable friends, do not such men as you sir in lieu of all your understandings, travels, and those great gifts of nature; aim at no more than casting off your coats, I am strangely cozened.  Lance. 
Should not the town shake at the could you feel now, and all the Gentry suffer intrediction, no more sense spoken, all things Goth and Vandall, till you be summed again, velvets and scarlets, anointed with gold lace, and cloth of silver turned into Spanish cottons for a pennance, wits blasted with your bulls, and taverns withered, as though the term lay at S. Albones.  Val. 
Gentlemen you have spoken long, and levill, I beseech you take breath a while and here me; you imagine now, by the twirling of your strings, that J am at the last, as also that my friends are flown like swallows after Summer.  Vnc. 
Yes sir.  Val. 
And that I have no more in this poor pannier, to raise me up again above your rents uncle.  Vnc. 
All this I do believe.  Val. 
You have no mind to better me.  Unc. 
Yes cousin, and to that end I come, and once more offer you all that my power is master off.  Val. 
Amatch then, lay me down fifty pound there.  Unc. 
There it is sir.  Val. 
And on it writ, that you are pleased to give this, as due unto my merit, without caution of land redeeming, tedious thankes, or thrift hereafter to be hoped for.  Unc. 
How? luke lays a suite and letter at the door.  Val. 
Without daring, when you are drunk, to relish of revilings, to which you are prove in sack uncle.  Unc. 
I thank you sir.  Lance. 
Come, come away, let the young wanton play a while, away I say sir, let him go forward with his naked fashion, he will seek you to morrow; goodly weather, sultrie hot, sultry, how I sweat.  Vncl. 
Farewell sir.  Vnc, 
Farewell sir. Exeunt Uncle and Lance.  Val. 
Would I sweat too, I am monstrous vexed, and could too; and these are but thin pumpes to walk the steetes in; clothes I must get, this fashion will not fadge with me, besides, tis an ill Winter wear,— What art thou? yes, they are clothes, and rich ones, some fool has left um: and if I should utter— whats this paper here; let these be only worn, by the most noble and deserving Gentleman valentine,— dropped out oth' clouds; I think they are full of gold too; well Ile leave my wonder, and be warm again, in the next house Ile shift. Exit.    

Actus 4.  

Scaena 1.  Enter Franscisco, uncle, and Lance. Fran. 
WHy do you deal thus with him tis unnobly.  Unc. 
Peace cousin peace, you are to tender of him, he must be dealt thus with, he must be cured thus, the violence of his disease Francisco, must not be jested with, tis grown infectious, and now strong corrosives most cure him.  Lance. 
Has had a stinger, has eaten off his clothes, the next his skin comes.  Vnc. 
And let it search him to the bones, tis better, twill make him feel it.  Lance. 
Where be his noble friends now? will his fantastical opinions cloath him, or the learned Art of having nothing feed him.  Unc. 
It must needs greedily, for all his friends have flung him off, he is naked, and where to skin himself again, if I know, or can device how he should get himself lodging, his spirit must be bowed, and now we have him, have him at that we hoped for.  Lance. 
Next time we meet him cracking of Nuts, with half a clock about him, for all means are cut off, or borrowing six pence, to show his bounty in the pottage Ordidinary.  Fran. 
Which way went he?  Lance. 
Pox, Why should you ask after him, you have been trimmed already, let him take his fortune, he spun it out himself, sir, theres no pitty.  Vnc. 
Besides some good to you now from this misery.  Fran. 
I rise upon his ruins, fie, fie, uncle, fie honest Lance, those Gentlemen were base people, that could so soon take fire to his destruction.  Vnc. 
You are a fool, you are a fool, a young man.  Enter Vallentine. Val. 
Morrow uncle, morrow frank sweet frank, and how; and how dee, think now, how show matters; morrow Bandogge.  Vnc. 
How?  Fran. 
Is this man naked, forsaken of his friends.  Val. 
Thart handsome frank, a pretty Gentleman, i'faith thou lookest well, and yet here may be those that look as handsome.  Lan. 
Sure he can conjure, and has the devil for his tailor.  Vnc. 
New and rich, tis most impossible he should recover.  Lan. 
Give him this lucke, and fling him into the Sea.  Unc. 
Tis not he, imagination cannot work this miracle.  Val. 
Yes, yes, tis he, I will assure you uncle, the very he, the he your wisdom played withall, I thank you fort, neyed at his nakedness, and made his could and poverty, your pastime; you see I live, and the best can do no more uncle, and though I have no state, I keep the streets still; and take my pleasure in the town, like a poor Gentleman, wear clothes to keep me warm, poor things they serve me, can make a show too if I list, yes uncle, and ring a peal in my pockets, ding dung, uncle, these are mad foolish ways, but who can help um.  Unc. 
I am amazed.  Lan. 
Ile sell my coppyhold, for since there are such excellent new nothings, why should I labour, is there no fairy haunts him, no rat, nor no old woman.  Unc. 
You are valentine.  Val. 
I think so, I cannot tell, I have been called so, and some say christened, why do you wonder at me, and swell, as if you had met a sarjeant fasting, did you ever know desert want, yare fools, a little stoop, there may be to alloy him, he would grow too rank else, a small eclipse, to shadow him, but out he must break, glowingly again, and with a great lustre, look you uncle, motion, and Majesty.  Vnc. 
I am confounded.  Fran. 
I am of his faith.  Val. 
walk by his careless kinsman, and turn again and walk, and look thus uncle, taking some one by the hand, he loves best, leave them to the mercy of the hog market, come frank, Fortune is now my friend, let me instruct thee.  Fran. 
Good morrow uncle, I must needs go with him.  Val. 
Flay me, and turn me out where none inhabits, within two houres, I shall be thus again, now wonder on, and laugh at your own ignorance. Ex. Vall.& frank.  Unc. 
I do believe him.  Lan. 
So do I, and hearty upon my conscience bury him stark naked, he would rise again, within two houres embroidered: sow mustered seeds, and they cannot come up so thick as his new satins do, and clothes of silver, theres no striving.  Unc. 
Let him play a while then, and lets search out what hand:—  Lan. 
I there the game lies. Exeunt  Enter fountain, Bellamore and harebrain. Foun. 
Come lets speak for ourselves, we have lodged him sure enough, his nakedness dare not peep out to cross us.  Bel. 
We can have no admittance.  Hare. 
Lets in boldly, and use our best arts, who she deigns to favour, we are all content.  Foun. 
Much good may do her with him, no civill warres.  Bel. 
By no means, now do I wonder in what old toad Ivy he lies whistling for means, nor clothes he has none, nor none will trust him, we have made that side sure, teach him a new wooing.  Hare. 
Say it is his Vncles spite.  Foun. 
It is all one Gentlemen, 'tas rid us of a faire encumbrance, and makes us look about to our own fortunes. Who are these. Enter Isabell and luke.  Isa. 
Not see this man yet, well, I shall be wiser: but luke didst ever know a woman melt so, she is finely hurt to hunt.  luke. 
Peace, the three suitors.  Isa. 
I could so titter now and laugh, I was lost luke, and I must love, I know not what; O Cupid, what pretty 'gins thou hast to halter woodcocks, and we must into the country in all hast luke.  luke. 
For heavens sake Mistris.  Isa. 
Nay I have done, I must laugh though, but scholar, I shall teach you.  Foun. 
Tis her sister.  Bell. 
Save you Ladies.  Isa. 
Faire met Gentlemen, you are visiting my sister, I assure myself.  Hare. 
We would fain bless our eyes.  Isa. 
Behold and welcome, you would see her:  Foun. 
Tis our business.  Isa. 
You shall see her, and you shall talk with her.  luke. 
Shee will not see um, nor spend a word.  Isa. 
Ile make her fret a thousand, nay now I have found the scab, I will so scratch her.  luke. 
She cannot endure um.  Isa. 
She loves um but too dearly, come follow me, Ile bring you toth party Gentlemen, then make your own conditions.  luke. 
She is sick you know.  Isa. 
Ile make her well, or kill her, and take no idle answer, you are fools then, nor stand off for her state, sheele scorn you all then, but urge her still, and though she fret, still follow her, a widow must be won so.  Bel. 
Shee speaks bravely.  Isa. 
I would fain have a brother in law, I love mens company, and if she call for dinner to avoid you, be sure you stay, follow her into her chamber, if she retire to pray, pray with her, and boldly, like honest lovers.  luke. 
This will kill her.  Foun. 
You have showed us one way, do but lend the tother.  Isa. 
I know you stand a thorns, come Ile dispatch you.  luke. 
If you live after this.  Isa. 
I have lost my aim.  Enter valentine and Franscisco. Fra. 
Did you not see um since.  Val. 
No hang um, hang um.  Fra. 
Nor will you not be seen by um:  Val. 
Let um alone frank, Ile make um their own justice, and a jerker.  Fra. 
Such base discurteous dog whelps.  Val. 
I shall dog um, and double dog um, ere I have done.  Fran. 
Will you go with me, for I would fain find out this piece of bounty it was the widdows man, that I am certain of.  Val. 
To what end would you go.  Fran. 
To give thankes sir.  Val. 
Hang giving thankes, hast not thou parts deserves it, it includes to a further will to be beholding, beggars can do no more at doors, if you will go there lies your way.  Fran. 
I hope you will go.  Val. 
No not in ceremony, and to a woman, with mine own father, were he living frank; I would toth Court with bears first, if it be that wench, I think it is, for tothers wiser, I would not be so looked upon, and laughed at, so made a ladder for her wit, to climb upon, for tis the tartest wit in christendom, I know her well frank, and have buckled with her, so licked, and stroakt, fleard upon, and flouted, and shown to Chambermaides, like a strange beast, she had purchased with her penny.  Fran. 
You are a strange man, but do you think it was a woman  Val. 
Theres no doubt out, who can be there to do it else, besides the manner of the circumstances.  Fran. 
Then such courtesies, who ever does um sir, saving your own wisdom, must be more looked into, and better answered, then with deserving sleights, or what we ought to have conferred upon us, men may starve else, means are not gotten now, with crying out I am a gallant fellow, a good soldier, a man of learning, or fit to be employed, immediate blessings, cease like miracles, and we must grow, by second means, I pray go with me, even as you love me sir.  Val. 
I will come to thee, but frank, I will not stay to hear your fopperies, dispatch those ere I come.  Fran. 
You will not fail me.  Val. 
Some two houres hence expect me.  Fran. 
I thank you, and will look for you. Exeunt  Enter widow, Shorthose, and Roger. Wid. 
Who let me in these puppies, you blind rascals, you drunken knaves several.  Short. 
Yes forsooth, Ile let um in presently,— gentlemen,  Wid. 
Spercious you blown pudding, you bawling rogue.  Short. 
I bawl as loud as I can, would you have me fetch um upon my back.  Wid. 
Get um out rascall, out with um, out, I sweat to have um near me.  Short. 
I should sweat more to carry um out.  Rog. 
They are Gentlemen Madam:  Shor. 
Shall we get um intoth butterie, and make um drink.  Wid 
do any thing, so I be eased.  Enter Isabel, Fount, Bella, Hare. Isa. 
Now too her sir, fear nothing.  Rog. 
Slip a side boy, I know shee loves um, howsoere shee carries it, and has invited um, my young Mistris  told me so.  Short. 
Away to tables then. Exeunt.  Isa. 
I shall burst with the sport ont.  Fount. 
You are too curious Madam, too full of preparation, we expect it not.  Bella. 
Me thinks the house is handsome, every place decent, what need you be so vexed.  Hare. 
We are no strangers.  Foun, 
What though we come ere you expected us, do not we know your entertainments Madam are free, and full at all times.  Wid. 
You are merry Gentlemen.  Ball. 
We come to be merry Madam, and very merry, men live to laugh hearty, and now and then Lady a little of our old plea.  Wid. 
I am busy, and very busy too, will none deliver me.  Hare. 
There is a time for all, you may be busy, but when your friends come, you have as much power Madam.  Wid. 
This is a tedious torment.  Foun. 
How handsomely this title piece of anger shows upon her, well Madam well, you know not how to grace yourself.  Bella. 
Nay every thing she does breeds a new sweetness.  Wid. 
I must go up, I must go up, I have a business waits upon me, some wine for the Gentlemen.  Hare. 
Nay, weele go with you, we never saw your chambers yet.  Jsa. 
Hold there boyes.  Wid. 
Say I go to my prayers.  Foun. 
Weele pray with you, and help your meditations.  Wid, 
This is boisterous, or say I go to sleep, will you go te sleep with me.  Bel. 
So suddenly before meate will bee dangerous, wee know your dinners ready Lady, you will not sleep.  Wid. 
Give me my Coach, I will take the air,  Hare. 
Weele wait on you, and then your meate after a quickened stomach.  Wid. 
Let it alone, and call my steward to me, and bid him bring his recknings into the Orchard, these unmannerly rude puppies— Exit widow.  Foun. 
Weele walk after you and view the pleasure of the place.  Isa. 
Let her not rest, for if you give her breath, sheele scorn and flout you, seem how she will, this is the way to win her, be bold and prosper.  Bella. 
Nay if we do not tyre her.— Exeunt.  Isa. 
Ile teach you to worm me good Lady sister, and peep into my privacies, to suspect me, Ile torture you, with that you hate most daintily, and when I have done that, laugh at that you love most. Enter luke.  luke. 
What have you done, shee chafes and fumes outrageously, and still they persecute her.  Isa. 
Long may they do so, Ile teach her to declaim against my pities, why is shee not gone out oth' town, but gives occasion for men to run mad after her.  luke. 
I shall be hanged.  Isa. 
This in me had been high treason, three at a time, and private in her Orchard, I hope sheele cast her reckonings right now. Enter widow.  Wid. 
Well, I shall find who brought um.  Isa. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Wid. 
Why do you laugh sister, I fear me tis your trick, twas neatly done of you, and well becomes your pleasure.  Isa. 
What have you done with um.  Wid. 
locked um ith Orchard, there Ile make um dance and caper too, before they get their liberty, unmannerly rude puppies.  Isa. 
They are somewhat saucy, but yet Ile let um out, and once more hound um, why were they not beaten out.  Wid. 
I was about it, but because they came as suitors.  Isa. 
Why did you not answer um.  Wid. 
They are so impudent they will receive none: More yet, how came these in.  Enter Franscisco and Lance. Lan. 
At the door Madam.  Isa. 
It is that face.  luke. 
This is the Gentleman.  Wid. 
Shee sent the money too.  luke. 
The same.  Isa. 
Ile leave you, they have some business.  Wid. 
Nay you shall stay sister, they are strangers both to me: how her face alters.  Isa. 
I am sorry he comes now.  Wid. 
I am glad he is here now though. who would you speak with Gentlemen?  Lan. 
You Lady, or your faire sister there, heres a Gentleman, that has received a benefit.  Wid. 
From whom sir.  Lan. 
From one of you, as he supposes Madam, your man delivered it.  Wid. 
I pray go forward.  Lan. 
And of so great a goodness, that he dares not, without the tender of his thankes and service, pass by the house.  Wid. 
Which is the Gentleman?  Lan. 
This Madam.  Wid. 
Whats your name Sir?  Fran. 
They that know me call me Franscisco Lady, one not so proud to scorn, so timely a benefit, nor so wretched, to hid a gratitude.  Wid. 
It is well bestowed then.  Fran. 
Your faire self, or your sister as it seems, for what desert I dare not know, unless a handsome subject for your charities, or aptness in your noble wils to do it, have showered upon my wants, a timely bounty, which makes me rich in thankes, my best inheritance.  Wid. 
I am sorry twas not mine, this is the Gentlewoman-fie do not blushy, go roundly to the matter, the man is a pretty man.  Isa. 
You have three fine ones.  Fran. 
Then to you dear Lady.  Isa. 
I pray no more Sir, if I may persuade you, your onely aptness to do this is recompense, and more then I expected.  Fran. 
But good Lady.  Isa. 
And for me further to be acquainted with it, besides the imputation of vain glory, were greedy thankings of myself, I did it not to be more affencted to; I did it, and if it happened where I thought it fitted, I have my end, more to inquire is curious in either of us, more then that suspicious:  Fran. 
But gentle lady, twill be necessary.  Isa. 
About the right way nothing, do not fright it, being to pious use and tender sighted, with the blown face of compliments, it blasts it had you not come at all, but thought thankes; it had been too much, twas not to see your person.  Wid. 
A brave dissembling rogue, and how she carries it.  Isa. 
Though I believe few handsomer; or hear you, though I affect a good tongue well; or try you, though my yeares desire a friend, that I relieved you.  Wid. 
A plaguy cunning quean.  Isa. 
For so I carried it, my ends too glorious in mine eyes, and bartred the goodness I propounded with opinion.  Wid. 
fear her not Sir.  Isa. 
You cannot catch me sister.  Fran. 
Will you both teach, and tie my tongue up Lady?  Isa. 
Let it suffice you have it, it was never mine, whilst good men wanted it.  Lan. 
This is a Saint sure.  Isa. 
And if you be not such a one restore it.  Fran. 
To commend myself were more officious, then you think my thankes are, to doubt I may be worth your gift a treason, both to mine own good, and understanding, I know my mind clear, and though modesty tells me, he that entreats intrudes, yet I must think something, and of some season, met with your better taste, this had not been else.  Wid. 
What ward for that Wench.  Isa. 
Alas it never touched me.  Fran, 
Well gentle lady, yours is the first money I ever took upon a forced ill manners.  Isa. 
The last of me, if ever you use other.  Fran. 
How may I do, and your way to be thought a grateful taker.  Isa. 
Spend it and say nothing, your modesty may deserve more.  Wid. 
O sister, will you bar thankfulness?  Isa. 
Dogges dance for meate, would you have men do worse, for they can speak, cry out like Woodmongers, good deeds by the hundreds, I did it that my best friend should not know it, wine and vain glory does as much as I else, if you will force my merit, against my meaning, use it in well bestowing it, in showing it came to be a benefit, and was so; and not examining a woman did it, or to what end, in not believing sometimes yourself, when drink and stirring conversation may ripen strange persuasions.  Fran. 
Gentle Lady, J were a base receiver of a courtesy, and you a worse disposer, were my nature unfurnished of these foresights, Ladies honours were ever in my thoughts, unspotted crimes, their good deeds holy temples, where the incense burns not, to common eyes your fears are virtuous, and so I shall preserve um.  Isa. 
keep but this way, and from this place to tell me so, you have paid me; and so J wish you see all fortune. Ex.  Wid. 
fear not the woman will be thanked, I do not doubt it, are you so crafty, carry it so precisely, this is to wake my fears, or to abuse me, I shall look narrowly, despair not Gentlemen, there is an hour to catch a woman in, if you be wise, so, I must leave you too; now will I go laugh at my suitors. Exit.  Lan. 
Sir what courage.  Fran. 
This woman is a founder, and scites statutes to all her benefits.  Lan. 
I never knew yet, so few yeares and so cunning, yet believe me she has an itch, but how to make her confess it, for it is a crafty Tit, and plays about you, will not bite home, she would fain, but she dares not; carry yourself but so discreetly Sir, that want or wantonness seem not to search you, and you shall see her open.  Fran. 
I do love her, and were I rich, would give two thousand pound to wed her wit but one hour, oh tis a dragon, and such a sprightly way of pleasure, ha Lance.  Lan. 
Your ha Lance broken once, you would cry, ho, ho, Lance.  Fran. 
Some leaden landed rogue, will have this Wench now, when alls done, some such youth will carry her, and wear her greasy out like stuff, some dunce that knows no more but Markets, and admires nothing but a long charge at assizes: O the fortunes.  Enter Isabel and luke. Lan. 
Comfort yourself.  luke. 
They are here yet, and a love too, boldly upont, Nay mistress, I still  told you, how' would find your trust, this tis to venture your charity upon a boy.  Lan. 
Now, whats the matter? stand fast, and like yourself.  Isa. 
prithee no more wench.  luke. 
What was his want to you.  Isa. 
Tis true.  luke. 
Or misery, or say he had been ith' Cage, was there no mercy to look abroad but yours.  Isa. 
I am paid for fooling.  luke. 
Must every slight companion that can purchase a show of poverty and beggarly planet fall under your compassion.  Lance. 
Heres a new matter.  luke. 
Nay you are served but too well, here he stays yet, yet as I live.  Fran. 
How her face alters on me?  luke. 
Out of a confidence I hope.  Isa. 
I am glad ont.  Fran. 
How do you gentle Lady?  Isa. 
Much ashamed sir, but first stand further off me y'are infectious to find such vanity, nay almost impudence where I believe a worth: is this your thankes, the gratitude you were so mad to make me, your trim council Gentlemen?  Lanc. 
What Lady?  Isa. 
Take your device again, it will not serve sir, the woman will not bite, you are finely cozened, drop it no more for shane.  luke. 
do you think you are here sir amongst your wastcoateers. your base Wenches that scratch at such occasions; you are deluded; This is a Gentlewoman of a noble house, born to a better famed than you can build her, and eyes above your pitch.  Fran. 
I do aclowledge—  Isa. 
Then I beseech you sir, what could see, speak boldly, and speak truly, shane the devil, in my behaviour of such easiness that you durst venture to do this.  Fran. 
You amaze me, this Ring is none of mine, nor did I drop it.  luke. 
I saw you drop it sir.  Isa. 
I took it up too, still looking when your modesty should miss it, why what a childish part was this?  Fran. 
J vow.  Isa. 
Vow me no vows, he that dares do this, has bread himself to boldness, to forswear too; there take your gugaw you are too much pampered, and I repent my part, as you grow older grow wiser if you can, and so farewell sir.  Exit Isabella and luke. Lan. 
Grow wiser if you can, shee has put it to you, tis a rich Ring, did you drop it?  Fran. 
Never, nere see it afore Lance.  Lan. 
Thereby hangs a tail then: what slight shee makes to catch herself, look up sir, you cannot lose her if you would, how daintily she flies upon the lure, and cunningly she makes her stops, whistle and she'll come to you.  Fran. 
I would I were so happy.  Lan. 
Maids are clockes, the greatest wheel they show, goes slowest to us, and makes hang on tedious hopes the lesser, which are concealed being often oiled with wishes flee like desires, and never leave that motion, till the tongue strikes; she is flesh, blood, and marrow, young as her purpose, and soft as pitty; no Monument to worship, but a mould to make men in, a neat one, and I know how ere she appears now, which is near enough, you are stark blind if you hit not soon at night; shee would venture forty pounds more but to feel a flay in your shape bite her: drop no more Rings forsooth, this was the prettiest thing to know her heart by.  Fran. 
Thou putst me in much comfort.  Lan. 
Put yourself in good comfort, if shee do not point you out the way, drop no more rings, she'll drop herself into you.  Fran. 
I wonder my brother comes not.  Lan. 
Let him alone, and feed yourself on your own fortunes; come be frolic, and lets be monstrous wise and full of council, drop no more rings. Exit.  Enter widow, fountain, Bellamore, harebrain. Wid. 
If you will needs be fool sh you must be used so: who sent for you? who entertained you Gentlemen? who bid you welcome hither? you came crowding, and impudently bold; press on my patience, as if I kept a house for all Companions, and of all sorts; will have you wills, will' vex me and force my liking from you, I never owed you.  Fount. 
For all this we will dine with you.  Bell. 
And for all this will have a better answer from you.  Wid. 
You shall never, neither have a answer nor dinner, unless you use me with a more stayed respect, and stay your time too. Enter Isabella, Shorthose, Roger, Humphrey, Ralph, with dishes of meate.  Isa. 
Forward with the meate now.  Rog. 
Come gentlemen march fairly.  Short. 
Roger, you are a weak Servingman, your white broth runs from you; fie, how I sweat under this pile of beef; an Elephant can do more, oh for such a back now, and in these times, what might a man arrive at; Goose graze you up, and woodcock march behind thee, I am almost foundered.  Wid. 
Who bid you bring the meate yet? away you knaves, J will not dine these two houres, how am I vexed and chafed; go carry it back and tell the cook, he's an arrant Rascall, to sand before I called.  Short. 
Faces about Gentlemen, beate a mournful march then, and give some supporters, or esse I perish—  Exeunt Servants. Isa. 
It does me much good to see her chafe thus.  Hare. 
Wee can stay madam, and will stay and dwell here, tis good air.  Fonn. 
I know you have beds enough, and meate you never want.  Wid. 
You want a little.  Bell. 
We dare to pretend on, since you are curlish, wee'll give you physic, you must purge this anger, it burns you and decay you.  Wid. 
If I had you out once I would be at charge of a percullis for you. Enter Vallantine.  Val. 
Good morrow noble Lady.  Wid. 
Good morrow sir, how sweetly now he looks, and how full manly, what slaves was these to use him so.  Val. 
I come to look a young man I call brother.  Wid. 
Such a one was here sir, as I remember your own brother, but gone almost an hour ago.  Val. 
God e'en then.  Wid. 
You must not so soon sir, here be some Gentlemen, it may be you are acquainted with um.  Hare. 
Will nothing make him miserable?  Foun. 
How glorious!  Bell. 
It is the very he, does it fain fortunes, or has he a familliar.  Hare. 
How doggedly he looks too.  Foun. 
I am beyond my faith, pray lets be going.  Val. 
Where are these Gentlemen?  Wid. 
Here.  Val. 
Yes I know um and will be more famillier.  Bell. 
Morrow Maddam.  Wid, 
Nay stay and dine.  Val. 
You shall stay till I talk with you, and not dine neither, but fastingly my fury, you think you have undone me, think so still, and swallow that belief, till you be company for Court-hand clerks, and starved attorneys, till you break in at plays like prentices for three a groat, and crack nuts with the sc ollers in penny rooms again, and fight for apple, till you return to what I found you, people betrai'd into the hands of Fencers, Challengers, Toothdrawers bills, and tedious Proclamations in Meale-markets, with throngings to see Cutpurses: stir not, but hear, and mark, Ile cut your throats else, till Waterworkes, and rumours of new Rivers rid you again and run you into questions who built Theamea, till you run mad for Lotteries, and stand there with your tables to glean the golden sentences, and city um secretly to Servingmen for sound essays, till taverns allow you but a towel room to tipple in wine that the Bell hath gone for twice, and glasses that look like broken promises, tied up with wicker protestations, English Tobacco with half pipes, nor in half a year once burnt, and biscuit that bawds have rubbed their gums upon like Curralls to bring the mark again; tell these hour rascals so, this most fatal hour will come again, think I sit down the loser.  Wid. 
Will you stay Gentlemen, a piece of beef and a could Capon, thats all, you know you are welcome.  Hum. 
That was cast to abuse us.  Bell. 
steal off, the devil is in his anger.  Wid. 
Nay I am sure you will not leave me so discurteously now I have provided for you.  Val. 
What do you hear? why do vex a woman of her goodness, her state and worth; can you bring a faire certificate that you deserve to be her footmen; husbands, you puppies, husbands for Whores and bawds, away you windsuckers; do not look big, nor prate, nor stay, nor grumble, and when you are gone seem to laugh at my fury, and slight this Lady, I shall hear, and know this: and though I am not bound to fight for women, as far as they are good I dare preserve um: be not too bold, for if you be Ile swinge you, Ile swinge you monstrousty without all pitty, your honours now go, avoid me mainly. Exeunt.  Wid. 
Well sir, you have delivered me, I thank you, and with your nobleness prevented danger their tongues might utter, will all go and eat sir.  Val. 
No, no, I dare not trust myself with women, go to your meate, eat little, take less ease, and tie your body to a daily labour, you may live honestly, and so I thank you. Exit.  Wid. 
Well go thy ways, thou art a noble fellow, and some means I must work to have thee know it. Exit.    

Actus 5.  

Scaen. 1.  Enter Uncle and Merchant. Unc. 
MOst certain tis, her hands that hold him up, and her sister relieves frank.  Mer. 
I am glad to hear it: but wherefore do they not pursue this fortune to some faire end?  Vnc. 
The women are too crafty, Vellentine too coy, and frank too bashful, had any wise man hold of such a blessing, they would strike it out oth' flint but they would form it. Enter widow and Shorthose.  Mer. 
The widow sure, why does she stir so early.  Wid. 
Tis strange, I cannot force him to understand me, and make a benefit, of what J would bring him, tell my sister Ile use any devotions at home this morning, shee may if shee please go to Church.  Short. 
Hay ho.  Wid. 
And do you wait upon her with a torch sir?  Short. 
Hay ho.  Wid. 
You lazy knave.  Short. 
Here is such a tincle tanklings that we can nerelie quiet, and sleep our prayers out, Ralph pray empty my right shoe that you made your Chamberpot, and burn a little Rosemary int, I must wait upon my Lady. This morning Prayer has brought me into a consumption, I have nothing left but flesh and bones about me.  Wid. 
You drowsy slave, nothing but sleep and swilling.  Short. 
Had you been bitten with bandogge fleaes, as I have been, and haunted with the night mere.  Wid. 
With an Alepot.  Short. 
You would have little list to morning Prayers, pray take my fellow Ralph, he has a psalm book, I am an ingrum man.  Short. 
Get you ready quickly, and when she is ready wait upon her handsomely; no more, be gone.  Short. 
If I do snore my part out— Exit Short.  Vnc. 
Now to our purposes.  Mer. 
Good morrow Madam.  Wid. 
Good morrow Gentlemen.  Unc. 
Good joy and fortune.  Wid. 
These are good things, and worth my thankes, I thank you sir.  Mer. 
Much joy I hope you'll find, we came to gratulate, your new knit marriage band.  Wid. 
How?  Unc. 
Hes a Gentleman although he be my kinsman, my faire niece.  Wid. 
niece Sir?  Unc. 
Yes Lady, now I may say so, tis no shane to you, I say a Gentleman, and winking at some light fancies, which you most happily may affect him for, as bravely carried, as nobly bread and managed.  Wid, 
Whats all this, I understand you not, what niece, what marriage knot.  Unc. 
Ile tell plainly, you are my niece, and valentine the Gentleman has made you so by marriage.  Wid. 
Marriage?  Unc. 
Yes Lady, and twas a noble and a virtuous part, to take a falling man to your protection, and bay him up again to all his glories.  Wid. 
The men are mad.  Mer. 
What though he wanted these outward things, that fly away like shadows; was not his mind a full one, and a brave one, you have wealth enough to give him gloss, and outside; and he wit enough to give way to love a Lady.  Unc. 
I ever thought he would do well.  Mer. 
Nay, I knew how ever he wheeled about like a loose cabin, he would charge home at length, like a brave Gentleman, heavens blessing a your heart Lady, wee are so bound to honour you, in all your service so devoted to you.  Unc. 
do not look so strange widow it must be known, better a general joy; no stirring here yet, come, come you cannot hid um.  Wid. 
Pray be not impudent, these are the finest toys, belike I am married then.  Mer. 
You are in a miserable estate in the worlds account else, I would not for your wealth it come to doubting.  Wid. 
And I am great with child?  Unc. 
No; great they say not, but tis a full opinion you are with child, and great joy among the Gentlemen, your husband hath bestirred himself fairly.  Mer. 
Alas, we know his private houres of entrance, how long, and when he stayed, could name the bed too where he paid down his first fruits.  Wid. 
I shall believe anon.  Unc. 
And we consider for some private reasons, you would have it private, yet take your own pleasure; and so good morrow my best niece, my sweetest.  Wid. 
No, no, pray stay.  Unc. 
I know you would be with him, love him, and love him well.  Mer. 
You'll find him noble, this may beget—  Vnc. 
It must needs work upon her. Exit Vnc.& Mer.  Wid. 
These are fine bobes I faith, married, and with child too, how long has this been I trow? they seem grave fellowes, they should not come to flout; married, and bedded, the world take notice too, where lies this May game, I could be vexed extremely now, and rail too, but tis to no end, though I itch little, must J be scratched I know not how, who waits there?  Enter Hum, a servant, Hum, 
Madam.  Wid. 
Make ready my Coach quickly, and wait you onely, and hark you sir, be secret and speedy, inquire out where he lies.  Ral. 
I shall do it Madam. Exit  Wid. 
Married, and got with child in a dream, tis fine i'faith, sure he that did this, would do better waking. Exit  Enter valentine, Fran. Lance, and a boy with a torch. Val. 
Hold thy Torch handsomely, how dost thou frank, Peter Bassell, bear up.  Fran. 
You have fried me soundly, sack do you call this drink.  Val. 
A shrewd dog frank, will bite abundantly.  Lan. 
Now could I fight, and fight with thee.  Val. 
With me thou man of Memphis.  Lan. 
But that thou art mine own natural Master, yet my sacks says thou art no man, thou art a Pagan, and pawnest thy land, which a noble cause.  Val. 
No arms, no arms, good Lancelet, dear Lance, no fighting here, we will have Lands boy, Livings, and Titles, thou shalt be a Viceroy, hang fighting, hang tis out of fashion  Lan. 
I would fain labour you into your lands again, go too, it is behoveful.  Fran. 
Fie Lance, fie.  Lan. 
I must beate some body, and why not my Master, before stranger, charity and beating begins at home.  Val. 
Come thou shalt beate me.  Lan. 
I will not be compelled, and you were two Masters, I scorn the motion.  Val. 
Wilt thou sleep.  Lan. 
I scorn sleep.  Val. 
Wilt thou go eat.  Lan. 
I scorn meate, I come for compering, I come to wait upon my charge discreetly, for look you if you will not take your mortgage again, here do I lye Saint George, and so forth.  Val. 
And here do I St. George, bestride the Dragon, thus with my Lance.  Lan. 
I sting, I sting with my tail.  Val. 
do you so, do you so Sir, I shall tail you presently.  Fran. 
By no means do not hurt him.  Val. 
Take his Nellson, and now rise, thou maiden Knight of Malligo, lace on thy helmet of enchanted sack, and charge again.  Lan. 
I play no more, you abuse me, will you go.  Fran. 
Ile bid you good morrow Brother, for sleep I cannot I have a thousand fancies:  Val. 
Now thou art arrived, go bravely to the matter, and do something of worth frank.  Lan. 
You shall hear from us. Exit Lance and Frank.  Val. 
This rogue, if he had been sober, sure had beaten me, is the most tettish knave.  Enter Uncle and Merchant: May with a torch. Unc. 
Tis he.  Men. 
Good morrow.  Val. 
Why sir good morrow to you too, and you be so lusty  Vnc. 
You have made your brother a fine man, we met him.  Val. 
I made him a fine Gentleman, he was a fool before, brought up amongst the midst of small beer Brue-houses, what would you have with me.  Mer. 
I come to tell you, your latest hour is come.  Val. 
Are you my sentence.  Mer. 
The sentence of your state.  Val. 
Let it be hanged then, and let it be hanged high enough, I may not see it.  Vnc. 
A gracious resolution.  Val. 
What would you else with me, will you go drink, and let the world slide uncle, ha, ha, ha, boyes, drink sack like whey boyes.  Mer. 
Have you no feeling sir.  Val. 
Come hither Merchant: Make me a supper, thou most reverend Land catcher, a supper of forty pound.  Mer. 
What then sir.  Val. 
Then bring thy wife along, and thy faire sisters, thy neighbours and their wives, and all their trinkets, let me have forty trumpets, and such wine, weele laugh at all the miseries of mortgage, and then in state Ile render thee an answer.  Mer. 
What say to this.  Unc, 
I dare not say nor think neither.  Mer. 
Will you redeem your state, speak to the point sir.  Val. 
Not, not if it were mine heir in the Turkes gallies.  Mer. 
Then I must take an order.  Val. 
Take a thousand, J will not keep it, not thou shalt not have it, because thou camest ith neck, thou shalt not have it, go take possession, and be sure you hold it, hold fast with both hands, for there be those hounds uncoupled, will ring you such a knell, go down in glory, and march upon my Land, and cry alls mine, cry as the devil did, and be the devil, mark what an echo follows, build fine Marchpanes, to entertain Sir Silkeworme and his Lady, and pull the chapel down, to raise a Chamber for Mistris Silver in, to lay her belly in, mark what an Earthquake comes, then foolish Merchant my tenants are no subjects, they obey nothing, and they are people too, never christened, they know no law, nor conscience, theyle devour thee: and thou mortal the stople, theyle confounded thee, within three dayes; no bit nor memory of what thou wert, no not the wart upon thy nose there, shall be ere heard of more, go take possession, and bring thy children down, to roast like rabbits, they love young toasts, and butter, Bowbell suckers; as they love mischief, and hate law, they are cannibals: bring down thy kindred too, that be not fruitful, there be those Mandrakes, that will mollify um, go take possession, Ile go to my Chamber, afore boy go. Exeu.  Mer. 
hes mad sure.  Vnc. 
hes half drunk sure, and yet I like this unwillingness to loose it this looking back.  Mer. 
Yes if he did it handsomely, but hes so harsh,& strange  Vnc. 
believe it tis his drink sir, and I am glad his drink has thrust it out.  Mer. 
Cannibals; if ever I come to view his regements, if faire terms may be had.  Vnc. 
he tells you true sir; They are a bunch of the most boisterous rascals disorder ever made, let um be mad once, the power of the whole Country cannot cool um, be patient but a while.  Mer. 
As long as you will sir, before I buy a bargain of such runts, Ile buy a college for bears, and live among um.  Enter Franscisco, Lance, boy with a torch. Fran. 
How dost thou now.  Lan. 
Better then I was, and straighter, but my heads a hogshead still, it rowles and tumbles.  Fran. 
Thou wert cruelly paid.  Lan. 
I may live to requited it, put a snaffle of sack in my mouth, and then ride me very well.  Fran. 
Twas all but sport, Ile tell thee what I mean now, I mean to see this wench.  Lan. 
Where a devil is shee, and there were two, 'twear better.  Fran. 
Dost thou hear the bell ring.  Lan. 
Yes, yes.  Fran. 
Then shee comes to prayers, early each morning thether: Now if I could but meet her, for I am of another mettle now.  Enter Isabell, and Shorthose with a Torch. Lan. 
What lights yond.  Fran. 
Ha, tis a light, take her by the hand and Court her.  Lan. 
Take her below the girdle, youle never speed else, it comes on this way still, oh that I had but such an opportunity in a saw pit, how it comes on, comes on, tis here.  Fran. 
Tis she, fortune I kiss thy hand— good morrow Lady.  Isa. 
What voice is that sirrha, do you sleep as you go, tis he, I am glad ont, why Shorthose.  Short. 
Yes forsooth, I was dreamed, I was going to Church.  Lan. 
Shee sees you as plain as I do.  Isa. 
Hold thy Torch up.  Short. 
Heres nothing but a stall, and a Butchers dog a sleep int, where did you see the voice.  Fran. 
Shee looks still angry.  Lan. 
To her and meet sir.  Isa. 
Here, here.  Fran. 
Yes Lady, never bless yourself, I am but a man, and like an honest man, now I will thank you—  Isa. 
What do you mean, who sent for you, who desired you  Short. 
Shall I put out the Torch forsooth.  Isa. 
Can I not go about my private meditations, hay, but such companions as you must ruffle me, you had best got with me sir.  Fran. 
Twas my purpose.  Isa. 
Why what an impudence is this, you had best, being so near the Church, provide a Priest, and persuade me to mary you.  Fran. 
It was my meaning, and such a husband, so loving, and so careful, my youth, and all my fortunes shall arrive at— hark you.  Isa. 
Tis strange you should be thus unmannerly, turn home again sirrah, you had best now force my man to lead your way.  Lan. 
Yes mary shall a Lady, forward my friend.  Isa. 
This is a pretty Riot, it may grow to a rape.  Fran. 
do you like that better, I can ravish you an hundred times, and never hurt you.  Short. 
I see nothing, I am asleep still, when you have done tell me, and then Ile wake Mistris.  Isa. 
Are you in earnest Sir, do you long to be hanged.  Fran. 
Yes by my troth Lady in these faire tresses.  Isa. 
Shall I call out for help.  Fran. 
No by no means, that were a weak trick Lady, Ile kiss and stop your mouth.  Isa. 
Youle answer all these.  Fran. 
A thousand kisses more.  Isa. 
I was never abused thus, you had best give out too, that you found me willing, and say I doted on you.  Fran. 
Thats known already, and no man living shall now carry you from me.  Isa. 
This is fine i'faith.  Fran. 
It shall be ten times finer.  Isa. 
Well seeing you are so valiant, keep your way, I will to Church.  Fran. 
And I will wait upon you.  Isa. 
And it is most likely theres a Priest, if you dare ven●…ter as you profess, I would wish you look about you, to do these rude tricks, for you know their recompenses, and trust not to my mercy.  Fran. 
But I will Lady.  Isa. 
For Ile so handle you.  Fran. 
Thats it I look for.  Lan. 
Afore thou dream.  Short. 
Have you done.  Isa. 
go on sir, and follow if you dare.  Fran. 
If I do not hang me.  Lan. 
Tis all thine own boy, an 'twere a million, god a mercy sack, when would small beer have done this. Exeunt.  Knocking within. Enter valentine. Val. 
Whose that that knocks and bounces, what a devil ails you, is hell broken loose, or do you keep an Iron mill.  Enter a servant. Ser. 
Tis a Gentlewoman sir that must needs speak with you.  Val. 
A Gentlewoman, what Gentlewoman, what have I to do with Gentlewomen?  Ser. 
She will not be answered Sir.  Val 
Fling up the bed and let her in, Ile try how gentle she is— Exit Servant. This sack has filled my head so full of babbles, I am almost mad; what Gentlewoman should this be, I hope she has brought me no butter print along with her to lay to my charge, if she have tis all one, Ile forswear it.  Enter widow. Wid. 
O your a noble gallant, sand of your servant pray.  Exit Servant. Val. 
Shee will not ravish me, by this light shee looks as sharp set as a Sparrow hawk, what wouldst thou woman.  Wid. 
O you have used me kindly, and like a Gentleman, this tis to trust to you.  Val. 
Trust to me, for what.  Wid. 
Because I said in jest once, you were a handsome man, one I could like well, and fooling, made you believe I loved you, and might be brought to mary.  Val. 
The widow is drunk too.  Wid. 
You out of this which is a fine discretion, give out the matters done, you have won and wed me, and that you have put fairly for an heir too, these are fine rumours to advance my credit; ith name of mischief what did you mean.  Val, 
That you loved me, and that you might be brought to mary me, why, what a devil do you mean widow.  Wid. 
Twas a fine trick too, to tell the world though you had enjoyed your first wish, you wished the wealth you aimed at; that I was poor, which is most true, I am, have sold my Lands because I love not those vexations, yet for mine honors sake, if you must be prating, and for my credits sake in the town.  Val. 
I tell thee widow, I like thee ten times better, now thou hast no Lands, for now thy hopes and cares, lie on thy husband, if ere thou marryest more.  Wid. 
Have not you married me, and for this main cause, now as you report it, to be your Nurse.  Val. 
My Nurse, why what am I grown too, give me the glass, my Nurse.  Wid. 
You nere said truer, I must confess I did a little favour you, and with some labour, might have been persuaded, but when I found I must bee hourly troubled, with making brawthes, and daubing your decay with swaddling, and with stitching up your ruins, for the world so reports.  Val. 
do not provoke me.  Wid. 
And half an eye may see.  Val. 
do not provoke me, the worlds a lying world, and thou shalt find it, have a good heart, and take a strong faith to thee, and mark what follows, my Nurse, yes, you shall rock me: widow Ile keep you waking.  Wid. 
You are disposed sir.  Val. 
Yes mary am I widow, and you shall feel it, nay and they touch my freehold, I am a Tiger.  Wid. 
I think so.  Val. 
Come.  Wid. 
Whether.  Val. 
Any whether. Sings.  

The fits upon me now, the fits upon me now,  
Come quickly gentle Lady, the fits upon me now,  
The world shall know they are fools,  
And so shalt thou do too,  
Let the cobbler meddle with his tools,  
The fits upon me now.   
Take me quickly while I am in this vain, away with me, for if I have but two houres to consider, all the widows in the world cannot recover me.  Wid. 
If you will, go with me sir.  Val. 
Yes mary will I, but tis in anger yet, and J will mary thee, do not cross me; yes, and J will lye with thee, and get a whole bundle of babies, and I will kiss thee, stand still and kiss me handsomely, but do not provoke me, stir neither hand nor foot, for I am dangerous, I drunk sack yesternight, do not 'allure me: Thou art no widow of this world, come in pitty, and in spite Ile mary thee, not a word more, and J may be brought to love thee. Exeunt  Enter Merchant and uncle at several doors. Mer. 
Well met again, and what good news yet.  Vnc. 
Faith nothing.  Mer. 
No fruits of what we sowed.  Unc. 
Nothing I hear of.  Mer. 
No turning in this tide yet.  Vnc. 
Tis all flood, and till that fall away, theres no expecting.  Enter Fran. Jsab. Lance. Shorthose, a torch. Mer. 
Is not this his younger brother.  Unc. 
With a Gentlewoman the widows sister, as I live he smiles, he has got good hold, why well said frank i'faith, lets stay and mark.  Isa. 
Well you are the prettiest youth, and so you have handled me, think you ha me sure.  Fran. 
As sure as wedlock.  Isa. 
You had best lie with me too.  Fran. 
Yes indeed will I, and get such black eyed boyes.  Vnc. 
God a mercy frank.  Isa. 
This is a merry world, poor simplo Gentlewomen that think no harm, cannot walk about their business, but they must be catched up I know not how.  Fran. 
Ile tell you, and Ile instruct you too, have I caught you mistress.  Isa, 
Well, and it were not for pure pitty, I would give you the slip yet, but being as it is.  Fran. 
It shall be better.  Enter valentine, widow, and Ralph with a Torch. Isa. 
My sister as I live, your brother with her, sure I think you are the Kings takers.  Vnc. 
Now it works.  Val. 
Nay you shall know I am a man.  Wid. 
I think so.  Val. 
And such proof you shall have.  Wid. 
I pray speak softly.  Val. 
Ile speak it out widow, yes and you shall confess too, I am no nurse child, I went for a man, a good one, if you can beate me out oth' pit.  Wid. 
I did but jest with you.  Val. 
Ile handle you in earnest, and so handle you: Nay when my credit calls.  Wid. 
Are you mad.  Val. 
I am mad, I am mad.  Fran. 
Good morrow Sir, I like your preparation.  Val. 
Thou hast been at it frank.  Fran. 
Yes faith, tis done sir,  Val. 
A long with me then, never hang an arse widow.  Isa. 
Tis to no purpose sister.  Val. 
Well said blackebrowes, advance your Torches Gentlemen.  Vnc. 
Yes, yes sir.  Val. 
And keep your ranks.  Mer. 
Lance carry this before him.  Vnc. 
Carry it in state.  Enter musicans, Fount. Hare. Bell. Val. 
What are you musicans, I know your coming, and what are those behind you.  Musi. 
Gentlemen that sent us to give the Lady, a good morrow.  Val. 
O I know them, come boy sing the song I taught you,  
And sing it iustily, come forward Gentlemen, your welcome,  
Welcome, now we are all friends go get the Priest ready,  
And let him not be long, we have much business:  
Come frank rejoice with me, thou hast got the start boy,  
But Ile so tumble after, come my friends lead,  
led cheerfully, and let your fiddles ring boyes,  
My follies and my fancies have an end here,  
Display the mortgage Lance, Merchant Ile pay you,  
And every thing shall be in joint again.  Vnc. 
A fore, afore.  Val. 
And now confess, and know.  
Wit without Money, sometimes gives the blow.  Exeunt.   
FJNIS.