ters, 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 blest, 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._ I'le make you merry then, you are a brave Woman, and in
despite of envy a right one, go thy wayes, 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 Flowr to know your
pureness, and I have found you excellent, I thank you; continue so, and
shew men how to tread, and women how to follow: get an Husband, an
honest man, you are a good woman, and live hedg'd in from scandal, let
him be too an understanding man, and to that stedfast; 'tis pity your
fair Figure should miscarry, and then [you] are fixt: farewel.

_Wid._ Pray stay a little, I love your company now you are so
pleasant, and to my disposition set so even.

_Val._ I can no longer. [_Exit._

_Wid._ As I live a fine fellow, this manly handsome bluntness shews
him honest; what is he, or from whence? bless me, four Husbands! how
prettily he fooled me into Vices, to stir my jealousie, and find my
nature; a proper Gentleman: I am not well o'th' sudden, such a companion
I could live and dye with, his angers are meer mirth.

_Enter_ Isabella.

_Isa._ Come, come, I am ready.

_Wid._ Are you so?

_Isa._ What ails she? the Coach stales, and the people, the day
goes on, I am as ready now as you desire, Sister: fie, who stays now,
why do you sit and pout thus?

_Wid._ Prethee be quiet, I am not well.

_Isa._ For Heav'us sake let's 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.

_Isab._ To abuse me, you shall not find new dreams, and new
suspicions, to horse withal.

_Wid._ Lord who made you a Commander! hey ho, my heart.

_Isab._ Is the wind come thither, and Coward like, do you lose your
Colours to 'em? are you sick o'th' _Valentine_? sweet Sister, come
let's away, the Country will so quicken you, and we shall live so
sweetly: _Luce_, my Ladies Cloak; nay, you have put me into such a
gog of going, I would not