Isa. You must needs know it; he courts your mistress.
Tim. Is he, too, in love with my lady Constance?
Isa. No, no: but, which is worse, he courts me.
Tim. Why, what have I to do with you? You know I care not this for you.
Isa. Perhaps so; but he thought you did: and good reason for it.
Tim. What reason, madam?
Isa. The most convincing in the world: He knew my cousin Constance never loved you: He has heard her say, you were as invincibly ignorant as a town-fop judging a new play: as shame-faced as a great overgrown school-boy: in fine, good for nothing but to be wormed out of your estate, and sacrificed to the god of laughter.
Tim. Was your cousin so barbarous to say this?
Isa. In his hearing.
Tim. And would he let me proceed in my suit to her?