Luce. What have you done, she chafes and fumes outragiously, and still they persecute her.
Isab. Long may they do so, I'le teach her to declaim against my pities, why is she not gone out o'th' town, but gives occasion for men to run mad after her?
Luc. I shall be hanged.
Isab. This in me had been high treason, three at a time, and private in her Orchard! I hope she'l cast her reckonings right now.
Enter Widow.
Wid. Well, I shall find who brought 'em.
Isab. Ha, ha, ha.
Wid. Why do you laugh sister? I fear me 'tis your trick, 'twas neatly done of you, and well becomes your pleasure.
Isab. What have you done with 'em?
Wid. Lockt 'em i'th' Orchard, there I'le make 'em dance and caper too, before they get their liberty, unmannerly rude puppies.