Uncle. Yes, if he could stay there.

Mer. Why let him marry, and that way rise again.

Uncle. It’s most impossible, he will not look with any handsomeness upon a Woman.

Mer. Is he so strange to Women?

Uncle. I know not what it is, a foolish glory he has got, I know not where, to balk those benefits, and yet he will converse and flatter ’em, make ’em, or fair, or foul, rugged, or smooth, as his impression serves, for he affirms, they are only lumps, and undigested pieces, lickt over to a form by our affections, and then they show.  The Lovers let ’em pass.

Enter Fountain, Bellamore, Hairbrain.

Mer. He might be one, he carries as much promise; they are wondrous merry.

Uncle. O their hopes are high, Sir.

Fount. Is Valentine come to Town?

Bella. Last night, I heard.

Fount. We miss him monstrously in our directions, for this Widow is as stately, and as crafty, and stands I warrant you—­

Hair. Let her stand sure, she falls before us else, come let’s go seek Valentine.

Mer. This Widow seems a Gallant.

Uncle. A goodly Woman, and to her handsomness she bears her state, reserved, and great Fortune has made her Mistress of a full means, and well she knows to use it.

M[e]r. I would Valentine had her.

Uncle. There’s no hope of that, Sir.

Mer. O’ that condition, he had his Mortgage in again.

Uncle. I would he had.

Mer. Seek means, and see what I’le do, however let the Money be paid in, I never sought a Gentlemans undoing, nor eat the bread of other mens vexations, you told me of another Brother.

Uncle. Yes Sir, more miserable than he, for he has eat him, and drunk him up, a handsome Gentleman, and fine Scholar.

Enter three Tenants.

Mer. What are these?

Unc. The Tenants, they’ll do what they can.

Mer. It is well prepared, be earnest, honest friends, and loud upon him, he is deaf to his own good.

Lance. We mean to tell him part of our minds an’t please you.

Mer. Do, and do it home, and in what my care may help, or my perswasions when we meet next.

Unc. Do but perswade him fairly; and for your money, mine, and these mens thanks too, and what we can be able.

Mer. Y’are most honest, you shall find me no less, and so I leave you, prosper your business my friends. [Ex. Mer.

Unc. Pray Heaven it may, Sir.

Lance. Nay if he will be mad, I’le be mad with him, and tell him that I’le not spare him, his Father kept good Meat, good Drink, good Fellows, good Hawks, good Hounds, and bid his Neighbours welcome; kept him too, and supplied his prodigality, yet kept his state still; must we turn Tenants now, after we have lived under the race of Gentry, and maintained good Yeomantry, to some of the City, to a great shoulder of Mutton and a Custard, and have our state turned into Cabbidge Gardens, must it be so?