Isab. You search nearly.
Wid. I know it as I know your folly, one that knows not where he shall eat his next meal, take his rest, unless it be i'th' stocks; what kindred has he, but a more wanting Brother, or what vertues.
Isab. You have had rare intelligence, I see, sister.
Wid. Or say the man had vertue, is vertue in this age a full inheritance? what Joynture can he make you, Plutarchs Morals, or so much penny rent in the small Poets? this is not well, 'tis weak, and I grieve to know it.
Isab. And this you quit the town for?
Wid. Is't not time?
Isab. You are better read in my affairs than I am, that's all I have to answer, I'le go with you, and willingly, and what you think most dangerous, I'le sit laugh at. For sister 'tis not folly but good discretion governs our main fortunes.
Wid. I am glad to hear you say so.
Isa. I am for you.
Enter Shorthose, and Humphrey, with riding rods.