Luce. Bears it well, as if she cared not, but a man may see with half an eye through all her forced behaviour, and find who is her Valentine.
Isa. Come let's go see her, I long to prosecute.
Luce. By no means Mistress, let her take better hold first.
Isab. I could burst now. [Exeunt.
Enter Valentine, Fountain, Bellamore, Harebrain.
Val. Upbraid me with your benefits, you Pilchers, you shotten, sold, slight fellows? was't not I that undertook you first from empty barrels, and brought those barking mouths that gaped like bung-holes to utter sence? where got you understanding? who taught you manners and apt carriage to rank your selves? who filled you in fit Taverns? were those born with your worships when you came hither? what brought you from the Universities of moment matter to allow you, besides your small base sentences?
Bell. 'Tis well, Sir.
Val. Long Cloaks with two-hand-rapiers, boot-hoses with penny-poses, and twenty fools opinions, who looked on you but piping rites that knew you would be prizing, and Prentices in Paul's Church-yard, that scented your want of Britains Books.
Enter Widow, Luce, Hairbrain.
Font. This cannot save you.