_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