Unc. I do believe him.

Lan. So do I, and heartily upon my conscience, burie him stark naked, he would rise again, within two hours imbroidered:  sow mustard-seeds, and they cannot come up so thick as his new sattens do, and clothes of silver, there’s no striving.

Unc. Let him play a while then, and let’s search out what hand:—­

Lan. I, there the game lies. [Exeunt.

Enter Fountain, Bellamore, and Harebrain.

Foun. Come, let’s speak for our selves, we have lodg’d him sure enough, his nakedness dare no[t] peep out to cross us.

Bel. We can have no admittance.

Hare. Let’s in boldly, and use our best arts, who she deigns to favour, we are all content.

Foun. Much good may do her with him, no civil wars.

Bel. By no means, now do I wonder in what old tod Ivie he lies whistling for means, nor clothes he hath none, nor none will trust him, we have made that side sure, teach him a new wooing.

Hare. Say it is his Uncles spite.

Foun. It is all one Gentlemen, ’thas rid us of a fair incumbrance, and makes us look about to our own fortunes.  Who are these?

Enter Isabel and Luce.

Isab. Not see this man yet! well, I shall be wiser:  but Luce, didst ever know a woman melt so? she is finely hurt to hunt.

Luce. Peace, the three Suitors.

Isab. I could so titter now and laugh, I was lost Luce, and I must love, I know not what; O Cupid, what pretty gins thou hast to halter Woodcocks! and we must into the Country in all haste, Luce.

Luce. For Heaven’s sake, Mistris.

Isab. Nay, I have done, I must laugh though; but Scholar, I shall teach you.

Foun. ’Tis her sister.

Bel. Save you Ladies.

Lab. Fair met Gentlemen, you are visiting my sister, I assure my self.

Hare. We would fain bless our eyes.

Isab. Behold and welcom, you would see her?

Foun. ’Tis our business.

Isab. You shall see her, and you shall talk with her.

Luce. She will not see ’em, nor spend a word.

Isab. I’le make her fr[e]t a thousand, nay now I have found the s[c]ab, I will so scratch her.

Luce. She cannot endure ’em.

Isab. She loves ’em but too dearly, come follow me, I’le bring you toth’ party Gentlemen, then make your own conditions.

Luce. She is sick you know.

Isab. I’le make her well, or kill her, and take no idle answer, you are fools then, nor stand off for her state, she’I scorn you all then, but urge her still, and though she fret, still follow her, a widow must be won so.

Bel. She speaks bravely.