Wit Without Money - The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher by Francis Beaumont
page 54 of 125 (43%)
page 54 of 125 (43%)
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I stand on thorns.
_Wid._ I prethee _Isabella_, i'faith I have some business that concerns me, I will suspect no more, here, wear that for me, and I'le pay the hundred pound you owe your Taylor. _Enter_ Shorthose, Roger, Humphrey, Ralph. _Isab._ I had rather go, but-- _Wid._ Come walk in with me, we'll go to Cards, unsaddle the Horses. _Short._ A Jubile, a Jubile, we stay, Boys. _Enter_ Uncle, Lan. Foun. Bella. Harebrain _following_. _Unc._ Are they behind us? _Lan._ Close, close, speak aloud, Sir. _Unc._ I am glad my Nephew has so much discretion, at length to find his wants: did she entertain him? _Lance._ Most bravely, nobly, and gave him such a welcome! _Unc._ For his own sake do you think? _Lance._ Most certain, Sir, and in his own cause bestir'd himself too, and wan such liking from her, she dotes on him, h'as the command of |
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