Enter Merchant, and Uncle, at several doors.

Mer. Well met again, and what good news yet?

Unc. Faith nothing.

Mer. No fruits of what we sowed?

Unc. Nothing I hear of.

Mer. No turning in this tide yet?

Unc. ’Tis all flood, and till that fall away, there’s no expecting.

Enter Fran.  Isab.  Lance, Shorthose, a torch.

Mer. Is not this his younger Brother?

Unc. With a Gentlewoman the widow’s sister, as I live he smiles, he has got good hold, why well said Frank i’faith, let’s stay and mark.

Isab. Well, you are the prettiest youth, and so you have handled me, think you ha’ me sure.

Fran. As sure as wedlock.

Isab. You had best lie with me too.

Fran. Yes indeed will I, and get such black ey’d boyes.

Unc. God a Mercy, Frank.

Isab. This is a merrie world, poor simple Gentlewomen that think no harm, cannot walk about their business, but they must be catcht up I know not how.

Fran. I’le tell you, and I’le instruct ye too, have I caught you, Mistress?

Isab. Well, and it were not for pure pity, I would give you the slip yet, but being as it is.

Fran. It shall be better.

Enter Valentine, Widow, and Ralph, with a torch.

Isab. My sister, as I live, your Brother with her! sure, I think you are the Kings takers.

Unc. Now it works.

Val. Nay, you shall know I am a man.

Wid. I think so.

Val. And such proof you shall have.

Wid. I pray speak softly.

Val. I’le speak it out Widow, yes and you shall confess too, I am no Nurse-child, I went for a man, a good one, if you can beat me out o’th’ pit.

Wid. I did but jest with you.

Val. I’le handle you in earnest, and so handle you:  Nay, when my credit calls.

Wid. Are you mad?

Val. I am mad, I am mad.

Fran. Good morrow, Sir, I like your preparation.

Val. Thou hast been at it, Frank.

Fran. Yes faith, ’tis done Sir.

Val. Along with me then, never hang an arse, widow.

Isab. ’Tis to no purpose, sister.

Val. Well said Black-brows, advance your torches Gentlemen.

Unc. Yes, yes Sir.

Val. And keep your ranks.

Mer. Lance, carrie this before him.

Unc. Carrie it in state.

Enter Musicians, Fount.  Hare.  Bel.

Val. What are you, Musicians?  I know your coming, and what are those behind you?