Not.  Why did you not put all the lands in, Sir?

Lew.  Twas not condition’d. Not.  If it had been found,
It had been but a fault made in the writing;
If not found all the Land. Lew.  These are small Devils
That care not who has misch[ie]fe, so they make it;
They live upon the meere scent of dissension. 
Tis well, tis well, Are you contented Girle? 
For your wil must be known. Ang.  A husband’s welcom,
And as an humble wife He entertaine him,
No soveraignty I aime at, ’tis the mans Sir,
For she that seekes it, killes her husbands Honour: 
The Gentleman I have scene, and well observ’d him,
Yet find not that grac’d excellence you promise,
A pretty Gentle man and he may please too,
And some few flashes I have hear’d come from him,
But not to admiration as to others;
Hee’s young and may be good, yet he must make it,
And I may help, and help to thank him also. 
It is your pleasure I should make him mine,
And’t has beene still my duty to observe you.

Lew.  Why then let’s go, And I shall love your modesty.  To horse, and bring the Coach out Angellina, To morrow you will looke more womanly.

Ang.  So I looke honestly, I feare no eyes, Sir. Exeunt.

Actus III.  Scaena II.

      Brisac, Andrew, Cooke, Lilly.

Wait on your Master, he shall have that befits him;

And.  No inheritance, Sir? Bri.  You speak like a foole, a coxcomb,
He shall have annual meanes to buy him bookes,
And find him cloathes and meat, what would he more? 
Trouble him with Land? tis flat against his nature: 
I love him too, and honour those gifts in him.

And.  Shall Master Eustace have all? Bri.  All, all, he knowes how
To use it, hee’s a man bred in the world,
T’other ith’ heavens:  my Masters, pray be wary,
And serviceable; and Cooke see all your sawces
Be sharp and poynant in the pallat, that they may
Commend you; looke to your roast and bak’d meates hansomly,
And what new kickshawes and delicate made things—­
Is th’ musick come? But.  Yes Sir, th’are here at breakfast.

Bri.  There will be a Masque too, you must see this roome clean,
And Butler your doore open to all good fellowes,
But have an eye to your plate, for their be Furies;
My Lilly welcome, you are for the linnen,
Sort it, and see it ready for the table,
And see the bride-bed made, and looke the cords be
Not cut asunder by the Gallants too,
There be such knacks abroad; hark hither, Lilly,
To morrow night at twelve a clock, Ile suppe w’ye,
Your husband shall be safe, Ile send ye meat too,
Before I cannot well slip from my company.

And.  Will ye so, will you so, Sir?  Ile make one to eate it, I may chance make you stagger too. Bri.  No answer, Lilly?