_Isab._ 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.

_Isab._ What have you done with 'em?

_Wid._ Lockt 'em i'th' Orchard, there I'le make 'em dance and caper
too, before they get their liberty, unmannerly rude puppies.

_Isab._ They are somewhat saucy, but yet I'le let 'em out, and once
more sound 'em, why were they not beaten out?

_Wid._ I was about it, but because they came as suiters.

_Isab._ Why did you not answer 'em?

_Wid._ They are so impudent they will receive none: More yet! how
came these in?

_Enter_ Francisco _and_ Lance.

_Lan._ At the door, Madam.

_Isab._ It is that face.

_Luce._ This is the Gentleman.

_Wid._ She sent the money to?

_Luce._ The same.

_Isab._ Fie leave you, they have some business.

_Wid._ Nay, you shall stay, Sister, they are strangers both to me;
how her face alters!

_Isab._ 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 fair Sister there, here's 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 thanks and service, pass by the house.

_Wid._ Which is the Gentleman?

_Lan._ This, Madam.

_Wid._ What's your name, Sir?

_Fran._ They that know me call me _Francisco_, Lady, one not
so proud to scorn so timely a benefit, nor so wretched to hide a
gratitude.

_Wid._ It is well bestowed then.

_Fran._ Your fair 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 will to do it, have showred upon my wants a timely
bounty, which makes me rich in thanks, my best inheritance.

_Wid._ I am sorry 'twas not mine, this is the Gentlewoman, fie, do
not blush, go roundly to the matter, the man is a pretty man.

_Isab._ You have three fine ones.

_Fran._ Then to you, dear Lady?

_Isab._ I pray no more, Sir, if I may perswade you, your only
aptness to do this is recompence, and more than I expected.

_Fran._ But good Lady.

_Isab._ And for me further to be acquainted with it besides the
imputation of vain glory, were greedy thankings of my self, I did it not
to be more affected to; I did it, and if it happened