Enter de Gard.
Ori. Are all my hopes come to this? is there no faith?
No troth? nor modesty in men?
de [G]a. How now Sister,
Why weeping thus? did I not prophesie?
Come tell me why—
Ori. I am not well; 'pray ye pardon me. [Exit.
de Ga. Now Monsieur Mirabel, what ails my Sister?
You have been playing the wag with her.
Mir. As I take it,
She is crying for a cod-piece; is she gone?
Lord, what an Age is this! I was calling for ye,
For as I live I thought she would have ravish'd me.
de Ga. Ye are merry Sir.
Mir. Thou know'st this book, de Gard, this Inventory.
de Ga. The debt-book of your Mistresses, I remember it.
Mir. Why this was it that anger'd her; she was stark mad
She found not her name here, and cry'd down-right,
Because I would not pity her immediately,
And put her in my list.