Lan. I’le sell the titles of my house else, my Horse, my Hawk, nay’s death I’le pawn my wife:  Oh Mr. Francis, that I should see your Fathers house fall thus!

Isab. An honest fellow.

Lan. Your Fathers house, that fed me, that bred up all my name!

Isab. A gratefull fellow.

Lan. And fall by—­

Fran. Peace, I know you are angry Lance, but I must not hear with whom, he is my Brother, and though you hold him slight, my most dear Brother:  A Gentleman, excepting some few rubs, he were too excellent to live here else, fraughted as deep with noble and brave parts, the issues of a noble and manly Spirit, as any he alive.  I must not hear you; though I am miserable, and he made me so, yet still he is my Brother, still I love him, and to that tye of blood link my affections.

Isab. A noble nature! dost thou know him Luce?

Luce. No, Mistress.

Isab. Thou shouldest ever know such good men, what a fair body and mind are married! did he not say he wanted?

Luce. What’s that to you?

Isab. ’Tis true, but ’tis great pity.

Luce. How she changes! ten thousand more than he, as handsom men too.

Isab. ’Tis like enough, but as I live, this Gentleman among ten thousand thousand! is there no knowing him? why should he want? fellows of no merit, slight and puft souls, that walk like shadows, by leaving no print of what they are, or poise, let them complain.

Luce. Her colour changes strangely.

Isab. This man was made, to mark his wants to waken us; alas poor Gentleman, but will that keep him from cold and hunger, believe me he is well bred, and cannot be but of a noble linage, mark him, mark him well.

Luce. ’Is a handsom man.

Isab. The sweetness of his sufferance sets him off, O Luce, but whither go I?

Luce. You cannot hide it.

Isab. I would he had what I can spare.

Luce. ’Tis charitable.

Lance. Come Sir, I’le see you lodg’d, you have tied my tongue fast, I’le steal before you want, ’tis but a hanging.

Isab. That’s a good fellow too, an honest fellow, why, this would move a stone, I must needs know; but that some other time. [Exit Lance, and Franc.

Luce. Is the wind there? that makes for me.

Isab. Come, I forgot a business.

Actus [Secundus].  Scena Prima.

Enter Widow, and Luce.

Wid. My sister, and a woman of so base a pity! what was the fellow?

Luce, Why, an ordinary man, Madam.

Wid. Poor?

Luce. Poor enough, and no man knows from whence neither.

Wid. What could she see?