Fran. I rise upon his ruines! fie, fie, Uncle, fie honest Lance. Those Gentlemen were base people, that could so soon take fire to his destruction.
Unc. You are a fool, you are a fool, a young man.
Enter Valentine.
Val. Morrow Uncle, morrow Frank, sweet Frank, and how, and how d'ee, think now, how shew matters? morrow Bandog.
Unc. How?
Fran. Is this man naked, forsaken of his friends?
Val. Th'art handsom, Frank, a pretty Gentleman, i'faith thou lookest well, and yet here may be those that look as handsom.
Lance. Sure he can conjure, and has the Devil for his Tailor.
Unc. New and rich! 'tis most impossible he should recover.
Lan. Give him this luck, and fling him into the Sea.