Luce. She is sick you know.
Isab. I'le make her well, or kill her, and take no idle answer, you are fools then, nor stand off for her state, she'I scorn you all then, but urge her still, and though she fret, still follow her, a widow must be won so.
Bel. She speaks bravely.
Isab. I would fain have a Brother in law, I love mens company, and if she call for dinner to avoid you, be sure you stay; follow her into her chamber, if she retire to Pray, pray with her, and boldly, like honest lovers.
Luce. This will kill her.
Foun. You have shewed us one way, do but lead the tother.
Isab. I know you stand o'thorns, come I'le dispatch you.
Luce. If you live after this.
Isab. I have lost my aim.
Enter Valentine, and Francisco.