Val. No jealousie; for when I marry, the Devil must be wiser than I ake him; and the flesh foolisher: come let's to dinner, and when I am well whetted with wine, have at her.[Exeunt.
Enter Isabella, and Luce.
Isab. But art thou sure?
Luce. No surer than I heard.
Hare. That it was that flouting fellows Brother?
Luce. Yes, Shorthose told me so.
Hare. He did searc[h] out the truth?
Luce. It seems he did.
Har. Prethee Luce call him hither, if he be no worse, I never repent my pity, now sirra, what was he we sent you after, the Gentleman i'th' black?
Enter Shorthose.