Enter ISABELLA.
Isa. Came not Sir Timorous this way, gentlemen? He left us in the garden, and said he would look out my Lord Nonsuch, to make his peace with him.
Fail. Madam, I like not your enquiring after Sir Timorous: I suspect you have some design upon him: You would fain undermine your cousin, and marry him yourself.
Isa. Suppose I should design it, what are you the worse for my good fortune? Shall I make a proposition to you? I know you two carry a great stroke with him: Make the match between us, and propound to yourselves what advantages you can reasonably hope: You shall chouse him of horses, cloaths, and money, and I'll wink at it.
Burr. And if he will not be choused, shall we beat him out on't?
Isa. For that, as you can agree.
Fail. Give us a handsel of the bargain; let us enjoy you, and 'tis a match.
Isa. Grammercy i'faith, boys; I love a good offer, howe'er the world goes; but you would not be so base to wrong him that way?
Fail. I vow to gad but I would, madam: In a horse, or a woman, I may lawfully cheat my own father: Besides, I know the knight's complexion; he would be sure to follow other women; and all that.
Isa. Nay, if he fought with the sword, he should give me leave to fight with the scabbard.