_Luce._ Yes, _Shorthose_ told me so.

_Hare._ He did searc[h] out the truth?

_Luce._ It seems he did.

_Har._ Prethee _Luce_ call him hither, if he be no worse, I
never repent my pity, now sirra, what was he we sent you after, the
Gentleman i'th' black?

_Enter_ Shorthose.

_Short._ I'th' torn black?

_Isab._ Yes, the same Sir.

_Short._ What would your Worship with him?

_Isab._ Why, my Worship would know his name, and what he is.

_Short._ 'Is nothing, he is a man, and yet he is no man.

_Isab._ You must needs play the fool.

_Short._ 'Tis my profession.

_Isab._ How is he a man, and no man?

_Short._ He's a begger, only the sign of a man, the bush pull'd
down, which shows the house stands emptie.