Const.  Pr’ythee do not mind me of ’em; for though I want ’em not, yet I find all women are caught with gaieties:  One grain more would turn the balance on his side; I am so vexed at the wild courses of this Loveby.

Isa.  Vexed? why vexed? the worst you can say of him is, he loves women:  And such make the kindest husbands, I’m told.  If you had a sum of money to put out, you would not look so much whether the man were an honest man, (for the law would make him that) as if he were a good sufficient pay-master.

Enter SETSTONE.

Const.  As I live, thou art a mad girl.

Set.  She must be used as mad folks are then; had into the dark and cured.

Const.  But all this is no comfort to the word, to-morrow.

Isa.  Well, what say you, if I put you to-night into the arms of Loveby?

Const.  My condition’s desperate, and past thy physic.

Isa.  When physic’s past, what remains but to send for the divine? here’s little Nicodemus, your father’s chaplain:  I have spoke with him already; for a brace of angels he shall make all sure betwixt you without a license; aye, and prove ten at night a more canonical hour than ten i’the morning.

Const.  I see not which way thou can’st perform it; but if thou do’st, I have many admirations in store for thee. [Whispers.

Isa.  Step in, and get a cushion underneath your apron.

Const.  O, I must be with child, it seems!

Isa.  And Loveby shall bring you to bed to-night, if the devil be not in the dice:  away, make haste;—­[Exit CONSTANCE.] Setstone, be not you far off:  I shall have need of you too:  I hear my uncle coming—­Methinks I long to be revenged of this wicked elder, for hindering of my marriage to-day:  Hark you, Setstone—­ [Whispers;

Set.  Tis impossible, madam; ’twill never take.

Isa.  I warrant you; do not I know him? he has not brains enough, if they were buttered, to feed a blackbird—­Nay, no replies—­out of what I have said, you may instruct my cousin too.

[Exit SETSTONE.

Enter NONSUCH.

Isa.  Oh, are you there, sir?  Faith, it was kindly done of you to hinder me of a good husband this afternoon:  And but for one thing, I would resolve to leave your house.

Non.  I’m glad there’s any thing will stay thee.

Isa.  If I stay, ’tis for love of my cousin Constance, not of you:  I should be loth to leave her in this sad condition.

Non.  What condition?

Isa.  Nay, I know not; she has not worn her busk this fortnight.  I think she’s grown fat o’the sudden.

Non.  O devil, devil! what a fright I’m in!

Isa.  She has qualms too every morning:  ravens mightily for green fruit; and swoons at the sight of hot meat.