She has the Keys, Sir.

Michael Perez: 

      I know she has, but who has all my goods, Spirit?

Old Woman: 

      If you be married to that Gentlewoman,
      You are a wretched man, she has twenty Husbands.

Maid: 

      She tells you true.

Old Woman: 

      And she has cozen’d all, Sir.

Michael Perez: 

The Devil she has!  I had a fair house with her,
201] That stands hard by, and furnisht royally.

Old Woman: 

      You are cozen’d too, ’tis none of hers, good Gentleman.

Maid: 

      The Lady Margarita, she was her Servant,
      And kept the house, but going from her, Sir,
      For some lewd tricks she plaid.

Michael Perez: 

      Plague o’ the Devil,
      Am I i’th’ full Meridian of my Wisedom
      Cheated by a stale Quean! what kind of Lady
      Is that that owes the House?

Old Woman: 

      A young sweet Lady.

Michael Perez: 

      Of a low stature?

Old Woman: 

      She is indeed but little, but she is wondrous fair.

Michael Perez: 

      I feel I am cozen’d;
      Now I am sensible I am undone,
      This is the very Woman sure, that Cousin
      She told me would entreat but for four days,
      To make the house hers; I am entreated sweetly.

Maid: 

      When she went out this morning, that I saw, Sir,
      She had two Women at the door attending,
      And there she gave ’em things, and loaded ’em,
      But what they were—­I heard your Trunks to open,
      If they be yours?

Michael Perez: 

      They were mine while they were laden,
      But now they have cast their Calves, they are not worth
      Owning:  was she her Mistress say you?

Old Woman: 

      Her own Mistress, her very Mistress, Sir, and all you saw
      About and in that house was hers.

Michael Perez: 

      No Plate, no Jewels, nor no Hangings?

Maid: 

      Not a farthing, she is poor, Sir, a poor shifting thing.

Michael Perez: 

      No money?

Old Woman: 

      Abominable poor, as poor as we are,
      Money as rare to her unless she steal it,
      But for one civil Gown her Lady gave her,
      She may go bare, good Gentlewoman.

Michael Perez: 

      I am mad now,
      I think I am as poor as she, I am wide else,
      One civil Sute I have left too, and that’s all,
      And if she steal that she must fley me for it;
      Where does she use?

Old Woman: 

      You may find truth as soon,
202] Alas, a thousand conceal’d corners, Sir, she lurks in. 
      And here she gets a fleece, and there another,
      And lives in mists and smoaks where none can find her.