Bel. By no means, now do I wonder in what old tod Ivie he lies whistling for means, nor clothes he hath none, nor none will trust him, we have made that side sure, teach him a new wooing.
Hare. Say it is his Uncles spite.
Foun. It is all one Gentlemen, 'thas rid us of a fair incumbrance, and makes us look about to our own fortunes. Who are these?
Enter Isabel and Luce.
Isab. Not see this man yet! well, I shall be wiser: but Luce, didst ever know a woman melt so? she is finely hurt to hunt.
Luce. Peace, the three Suitors.
Isab. I could so titter now and laugh, I was lost Luce, and I must love, I know not what; O Cupid, what pretty gins thou hast to halter Woodcocks! and we must into the Country in all haste, Luce.
Luce. For Heaven's sake, Mistris.
Isab. Nay, I have done, I must laugh though; but Scholar, I shall teach you.
Foun. 'Tis her sister.