Fran. Then she comes to prayers, early each morning thither: Now if I could but meet her, for I am of another mettle now.
Enter Isabel, and Shorthose with a Torch.
Lan. What light's yon?
Fran. Ha, 'tis a light, take her by the hand and court her.
Lan. Take her below the girdle, you'l never speed else, it comes on this way still, oh that I had but such an opportunity in a Saw-pit, how it comes on, comes on! 'tis here.
Fran. 'Tis she: fortune I kiss thy hand—Good morrow Lady.
Isa. What voice is that, Sirra, do you sleep as you go, 'tis he, I am glad on't. Why, Shorthose?
Short. Yes forsooth, I was dreamt, I was going to Church.
Lan. She sees you as plain as I do.
Isab. Hold the torch up.