Lan. This, Madam.
Wid. What's your name, Sir?
Fran. They that know me call me Francisco, Lady, one not so proud to scorn so timely a benefit, nor so wretched to hide a gratitude.
Wid. It is well bestowed then.
Fran. Your fair self, or your Sister as it seems, for what desert I dare not know, unless a handsome subject for your charities, or aptness in your noble will to do it, have showred upon my wants a timely bounty, which makes me rich in thanks, my best inheritance.
Wid. I am sorry 'twas not mine, this is the Gentlewoman, fie, do not blush, go roundly to the matter, the man is a pretty man.
Isab. You have three fine ones.
Fran. Then to you, dear Lady?
Isab. I pray no more, Sir, if I may perswade you, your only aptness to do this is recompence, and more than I expected.
Fran. But good Lady.