Tim.  Why, what a strange thing of you’s this, madam Isabella, to bring a man into trouble thus!

Fail.  You are not yet married to her?

Tim.  Not that I remember.

Isa.  Well, Failer, I shall find a time to reward your diligence.

Lov.  If the knight would have owned his action, I should have taught some of you more manners, than to come with officers into my lodging.

Franc.  I’m glad with all my heart this minx is prevented of her design:  the gentleman had got a great catch of her, as they say.  His old father in the country would have given him but little thanks for it, to see him bring down a fine-bred woman, with a lute, and a dressing-box, and a handful of money to her portion.

Isa.  Good Mistress Whatdeelack!  I know your quarrel to the ladies; do they take up the gallants from the tradesmen’s wives?  Lord, what a grievous thing it is, for a she citizen to be forced to have children by her own husband!

Franc.  Come, come, you’re a slanderful huswife, and I squorn your harlotry tricks, that I do, so I do.

Isa.  Steeple-hat your husband never gets a good look when he comes home, except he brings a gentleman to dinner; who, if he casts an amorous eye towards you, then, “Trust him, good husband, sweet husband, trust him for my sake:  Verily the gentleman’s an honest man, I read it in his countenance:  and if you should not be at home to receive the money, I know he will pay the debt to me.”  Is’t not so, mistress?

Enter BIBBER in slippers, with a skein of silk about his neck.

Franc.  Will you see me wronged thus, under my own roof, as they say, William?

Isa.  Nay, ’tis very true, mistress:  you let the men, with old compliments, take up new clothes; I do not mean your wife’s clothes, Mr Merchant-Tailor.

Bib.  Good, i’faith! a notable smart gentlewoman!

Isa.  Look to your wife, sir, or, in time, she may undo your trade; for she’ll get all your men-customers to herself.

Bib.  An’ I should be hanged, I can forbear no longer. [He plucks out his measure, and runs to ISABELLA, to take measure of her.

Isa.  How now! what means Prince Pericles by this?

Bib. [On his knees.] I must beg your ladyship e’en to have the honour to trust you but for your gown, for the sake of that last jest, flowered sattin, wrought tabby, silver upon any grounds; I shall run mad if I may not trust your ladyship.

Franc.  I think you are mad already, as they say, William:  You shall not trust her—­

[Plucks him back.

Bib.  Let me alone, Frances:  I am a lion when I am angered.

Isa.  Pray do not pull your lion by the tail so, mistress—­In these clothes, that he now takes measure of me for, will I marry Sir Timorous; mark that, and tremble, Failer.