Luce. Only his misery, for else she might behold a hundred handsomer.

Wid. Did she change much?

Luce. Extreamly, when he spoke, and then her pity, like an Orator, I fear her love framed such a commendation, and followed it so far, as made me wonder.

Wid. Is she so hot, or such a want of lovers, that she must doat upon afflictions? why does she not go romage all the prisons, and there bestow her youth, bewray her wantonness, and flie her honour, common both to beggery:  did she speak to him?

Luce. No, he saw us not, but ever since, she hath been mainly troubled.

Wid. Was he young?

Luce. Yes, young enough.

Wid. And looked he like a Gentleman?

Luce. Like such a Gentleman, that would pawn ten oaths for twelve pence.

Wid. My sister, and sink basely! this must not be, does she use means to know him?

Luce. Yes Madam, and has employed a Squire called Shorthose.

Wid. O that’s a precious Knave:  keep all this private, but still be near her lodging:  Luce, what you can gather by any means, let me understand:  I’le stop her heat, and turn her charity another way, to bless her self first; be still close to her counsels; a begger and a stranger! there’s a bless’dness!  I’le none of that; I have a toy yet, sister, shall tell you this is foul, and make you find it, and for your pains take you the last gown I wore; this makes me mad, but I shall force a remedy.

Enter Fountain, Bellamore, Harebrain, Valentine.

Fount. Sirra, we have so lookt for thee, and long’d for thee; this widow is the strangest thing, the stateliest, and stands so much upon her excellencies.

Bel. She hath put us off, this month now, for an answer.

Hare. No man must visit her, nor look upon her, no, not say, good morrow, nor good even, till that’s past.

Val. She has found what dough you are made of, and so kneads you:  are you good at nothing, but these after-games?  I have told you often enough what things they are, what precious things, these widows—­

Hare. If we had ’em.

Val. Why the Devil has not craft enough to wooe ’em, there be three kinds of fools, mark this note Gentlemen, mark it, and understand it.

Fount. Well, go forward.

Val An Innocent, a knave fool, a fool politick:  the last of which are lovers, widow lovers.

Bell. Will you allow no fortune?

Val. No such blind one.

Fount. We gave you reasons, why ’twas needful for us.

Val. As you are those fools, I did allow those reasons, but as my Scholars and companions damn’d ’em:  do you know what it is to wooe a widow? answer me coolely now, and understandingly.