Fan. When I am big enough I shall do my Endeavour, for I have heard you say, Women were born to no other end than to love: And ’tis fit I should learn to live and die in my calling.—Come, open the Gate, or you’ll repent it, we shall have my Father marry you within a day or two to that ugly Man that speaks hard Words,—avads, I can’t abide him.
Isab. What Noise is that?
Fan. Why, ’tis Mr. Lodwick at the Garden-Door;—let him in whilst I’ll to my flowry Bank, and stand Centinel.— Runs off. Isabella opens the Gate.
Enter Wittmore.
Wit. Who’s there?
Isab. Speak low, who shou’d it be but the kind Fool her self, who can deny you nothing but what you dare not take?
Wit. Not take! what’s that? hast thou reserves in store?
—Oh, come and let me lead thee to thy Bed,
Or seat thee on some Bank of softer Flowers,
Where I may rifle all thy unknown Store.