Enter George.
Now, George?
George. Master Foster's coming, sir.
Rob. I beseech you, sir, let not me see him
Till you have conferr'd with him.
Brew. Well, well! [To George.] Ere your return to Master Foster, call my daughter forth of the garden. [Exit George.
And how does your uncle, Master Foster?
Rob. Sir, so well,
I'd be loth to anticipate the fame
That shortly will o'erspread the city
Of his good fortunes.
Brew. Why, I commend thee still;
He wants no good from thee—no, not in report:
'Tis well done, sir, and you show duty in't.
Enter Jane.
Now, daughter, where are your lusty suitors?