_Isab._ What's the matter?

_Enter_ Shorthose, _and_ Widow.

_Short._ I have been with the Gentleman, he has it, much good may
do him with it.

_Wid._ Come, are you ready? you love so to delay time, the day
grows on.

_Isab._ I have sent for a few trifles, when those are come; And now
I know your reason.

_Wid._ Know your own honour then, about your business, see the
Coach ready presently, I'le tell you more then.

[_Ex._ Luce, _and_ Shorthose.

And understand it well, you must not think your sister so tender eyed as
not to see your follies, alas I know your heart, and must imagine, and
truly too; 'tis not your charitie can coin such sums to give away as you
have done, in that you have no wisdom _Isabel_, no nor modesty,
where nobler uses are at home; I tell you, I am ashamed to find this in
your years, far more in your discretion, none to chuse but things for
pity, none to seal your thoughts on, but one of no abiding, of no name;
nothing to bring you to but this, cold and hunger: A jolly Joynture
sister, you are happy, no mony, no not ten shillings.

_Isab._ You search nearly.