like stuff, some Dunce that knows no more but Markets, and admires
nothing but a long charge at Sizes: O the fortunes!

_Enter_ Isabel _and_ Luce.

_Lan._ Comfort your self.

_Luce._ They are here yet, and alone too, boldly upon't; nay,
Mistress, I still told you, how 'twould find your trust, this 'tis to
venture your charity upon a boy.

_Lan._ Now, what's the matter? stand fast, and like your self.

_Isa._ Prethee no more Wench.

_Luce._ What was his want to you?

_Isa._ 'Tis true.

_Luce._ Or misery, or say he had been i'th' Cage, was there no
mercy to look abroad but yours?

_Isa._ I am paid for fooling.

_Lu._ Must every slight companion that can purchase a shew of
poverty and beggerly planet fall under your compassion?

_Lane._ Here's a new matter.

_Luce._ Nay, you are served but too well, here he staies yet, yet