Isa. What ails she? the Coach stales, and the people, the day goes on, I am as ready now as you desire, Sister: fie, who stays now, why do you sit and pout thus?
Wid. Prethee be quiet, I am not well.
Isa. For Heav'us sake let's not ride staggering in the night, come, pray you take some Sweet-meats in your pocket, if your stomach—
Wid. I have a little business.
Isab. To abuse me, you shall not find new dreams, and new suspicions, to horse withal.
Wid. Lord who made you a Commander! hey ho, my heart.
Isab. Is the wind come thither, and Coward like, do you lose your Colours to 'em? are you sick o'th' Valentine? sweet Sister, come let's away, the Country will so quicken you, and we shall live so sweetly: Luce, my Ladies Cloak; nay, you have put me into such a gog of going, I would not stay for all the world; if I live here, you have so knock'd this love into my head, that I shall love any body, and I find my body, I know not how, so apt—pray let's be gone, Sister, I stand on thorns.
Wid. I prethee Isabella, i'faith I have some business that concerns me, I will suspect no more, here, wear that for me, and I'le pay the hundred pound you owe your Taylor.
Enter Shorthose, Roger, Humphrey, Ralph.
Isab. I had rather go, but—