Enter Lodwick.
Lod. Leander, what mak’st thou here, like a Holy-day Fool gazing at a Monster?
Lean. Yes; And one I hope I have no great reason to fear.
Lod. I am of thy opinion; away, my Mother’s coming; take this opportunity with my Sister, she’s i’th’ Garden, and let me alone with this Fool, for an Entertainment that shall shew him all at once: away— Exit Lean. Lod. goes in to Sir Cred.
Sir Cred. Lodwick, my dear Friend! and little Spark of Ingenuity—Zoz, Man, I’m but just come to Town. Embrace.
Lod. ’Tis a joyful hearing, Sir.
Sir Cred. Not so joyful neither, Sir, when you shall know poor Gillian’s dead, my little grey Mare; thou knew’st her, mun: Zoz, ’thas made me as melancholy as the Drone of a Lancashire Bag-pipe. But let that pass; and now we talk of my Mare, Zoz, I long to see this Sister of thine.
Lod. She’ll be with you presently, Sir Credulous.
Sir Cred. But hark ye, Zoz, I have been so often fob’d off in these matters, that between you and I, Lodwick, if I thought I shou’d not have her, Zoz, I’d ne’er lose precious time about her.
Lod. Right, Sir; and to say truth, these Women have so much Contradiction in ’em, that ’tis ten to one but a Man fails in the Art of pleasing.