_Fran._ Your fair self, or your Sister as it seems, for what desert
I dare not know, unless a handsome subject for your charities, or
aptness in your noble will to do it, have showred upon my wants a timely
bounty, which makes me rich in thanks, my best inheritance.

_Wid._ I am sorry 'twas not mine, this is the Gentlewoman, fie, do
not blush, go roundly to the matter, the man is a pretty man.

_Isab._ You have three fine ones.

_Fran._ Then to you, dear Lady?

_Isab._ I pray no more, Sir, if I may perswade you, your only
aptness to do this is recompence, and more than I expected.

_Fran._ But good Lady.

_Isab._ And for me further to be acquainted with it besides the
imputation of vain glory, were greedy thankings of my self, I did it not
to be more affected to; I did it, and if it happened where I thought it
fitted, I have my end; more to enquire is curious in either of us, more
than that suspicious.

_Fran._ But gentle Lady, 'twill be necessary.

_Isab._ About the right way nothing, do not fright it, being to
pious use and tender sighted, with the blown face of Complements, it
blasts it; had you not come at all, but thought thanks, it had been too
much, 'twas not to see your person.