_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Isabella, _and_ Luce.


_Luc._ By my troth Mistris I did it for the best.

_Isab._ It may be so, but _Luce_, you have a tongue, a dish of
meat in your mouth, which if it were minced _Luce_, would do a
great deal better.

_Luce._ I protest Mistress.

_Isab._ It will be your own one time or other: _Walter_.

_Walter_ [_within._] Anon forsooth.

_Isab._ Lay my hat ready, my fan and cloak, you are so full of
providence; and _Walter_, tuck up my little box behind the Coach,
and bid my maid make ready, my sweet service to your good Lady Mistress;
and my dog, good let the Coachman carry him.

_Luce._ But hear me.

_Isab._ I am in love sweet _Luce_, and you are so skilfull,
that I must needs undo my self; and hear me, let _Oliver_ pack up
my Glass discreetly, and see my Curles well carried. O sweet