_Wid._ A brave dissembling Rogue, and how she carries it!

_Isa._ Though I believe few handsomer; or hear you, though I affect
a good tongue well; or try you, though my years desire a friend, that I
relieved you.

_Wid._ A plaguie cunning quean.

_Isab._ For so I carried it, my end's too glorious in mine eyes,
and bettered the goodness I propounded with opinion.

_Wid._ Fear her not, Sir.

_Isa._ You cannot catch me, Sister.

_Fran._ Will you both teach, and tie my tongue up Lady?

_Isa._ Let it suffice you have it, it was never mine, whilest good
men wanted it.

_Lan._ This is a Saint sure.

_Isa._ And if you be not such a one, restore it.

_Fran._ To commend my self, were more officious than you think my
thanks are, to doubt I may be worth your gift a treason, both to mine
own good and understanding, I know my mind clear, and though modesty
tells me, he that intreats intrudes; yet I must think something, and of
some season, met with your better taste, this had not been else.