WIDDOW. Oh, brother, who can be against a misfortune! tis happy twas no more.
SIR GODFREY.
No, more! O goodly godly sister, would you had me lost more?
my best gown, too, with the cloth of gold-lace? my holiday
Gascoines, and my Jerkin set with pearl? No more!
WIDDOW.
Oh, Brother! you can read—
SIR GODFREY. But I cannot read where my chain is.—What strangers have been here? you let in strangers, Thieves, and Catch-poles; how comes it gone? there was none above with me but my Tailor; and my Tailor will not—steal, I hope?
MOLL.
No, he’s afraid of a chain!
[Enter Frailty.]
WIDDOW.
How now, sirrah? the news?
FRAILTY. O Mistress, he may well be called a Corporal now, for his corps are as dead as a cole Capons.
WIDDOW.
More happiness.
SIR GODFREY.
Sirrah, what’s this to my chain? where’s my chain, knave?