Fortune shall be asham’d, and held a Foole,

To suffer poore desert to ouer-match her. |Exit Lis.|

Lor. I humbly thanke your Grace: Why, here’s a gift

Able to make a Saint turne Oratrix,

And pleade ’gainst Chastitie: I must confesse,

Lisandro is a Noble Gentleman, and ha’s good gifts,

And is, indeed, gracious with my Ladie: Yet for all that, wee poore Gentlewomen, that haue no other fortunes but our attendance, must now and then make the best vse of our places: wee haue president, and very lately too. But who comes here? my Lord Nicanor?

Enter Nicanor.

Here’s another Client——I must deuise some quaint deuice for him, to delude his frostie apprehension—— Oh I ha’t.

Nic. Loretta, how is’t, wench? How thriues my suit, ha? Hast broke with thy Lady yet?