Fount. I know you have beds enough, and meat you never want.
Wid. You want a little.
Bel. We dare to pretend no. Since you are churlish, we'l give you Physick, you must purge this anger, it burns you and decays you.
Wid. If I had you out once, I would be at the charge of a portcullis for you.
Enter Valentine.
Val. Good morrow noble Lady.
Wid. Good morrow Sir. How sweetly now he looks, and how full manly! what slaves were these to use him so!
Val. I come to look a young man I call Brother.
Wid. Such a one was here Sir, as I remember your own Brother, but gone almost an hour agoe.
Val. Good ee'n then.