Wid. Who let in these puppies? you blind rascals, you drunken Knaves several.

Short. Yes forsooth, I’le let ’em in presently,—­Gentlemen.

Wid. Sprecious, you blown Pudding, bawling Rogue.

Short. I bawl as loud as I can, would you have me fetch ’em upon my back.

Wid. Get ’em out rascal, out with ’em, out, I sweat to have ’em near me.

Short. I should sweat more to carry ’em out.

Roger. They are Gentlemen Madam.

Short. Shall we get ’em into th’ butterie, and make’em drunk?

Wid. Do any thing, so I be eased.

Enter Isabel, Fount, Bella, Hare.

Isab. Now to her Sir, fear nothing.

Rog. Slip aside boy, I know she loves ’em, howsoever she carries it, and has invited ’em, my young Mistress told me so.

Short. Away to tables then. [Exeunt.

Isab. I shall burst with the sport on’t.

Fount. You are too curious Madam, too full of preparation, we expect it not.

Bella. Me thinks the house is handsom, every place decent, what need you be vext?

Hare. We are no strangers.

Fount. What though we come e’re you expected us, do not we know your entertainments Madam are free, and full at all times?

Wid. You are merry, Gentlemen.

Bel. We come to be merry Madam, and very merry, men love to laugh heartily, and now and then Lady a little of our old plea.

Wid. I am busie, and very busie too, will none deliver me.

Hare. There is a time for all, you may be busie, but when your friends come, you have as much power Madam.

Wid. This is a tedious torment.

Foun. How hansomly this little piece of anger shews upon her! well Madam well, you know not how to grace your self.

Bel. Nay every thing she does breeds a new sweetness.

Wid. I must go up, I must go up, I have a business waits upon me, some wine for the Gentlemen.

Hare. Nay, we’l go with you, we never saw your chambers yet.

Isab. Hold there boyes.

Wid. Say I go to my prayers?

Foun. We’l pray with you, and help your meditations.

Wid. This is boysterous, or say I go to sleep, will you go to sleep with me?

Bel. So suddenly before meat will be dangerous, we know your dinner’s ready Lady, you will not sleep.

Wid. Give me my Coach, I will take the air.

Hare. We’l wait on you, and then your meat after a quickned stomach.

Wid. Let it alone, and call my Steward to me, and bid him bring his reckonings into the Orchard, these unmannerly rude puppies—­ [Exit Widow.

Foun. We’l walk after you and view the pleasure of the place.