Staines. Can you not discern who they are?
Joyce. One is Spendall.
Gert. The other is the widow, as I take it.
Staines. 'Tis true, and that's her maid before her.
W. Rash. What a night of conspiracy is here! more villany? there's another goodly mutton going: my father is fleeced of all; grief will give him a box, i' faith—but 'tis no great matter; I shall inherit the sooner. Nay, soft, sir; you shall not pass so current with the matter, I'll shake you a little. Who goes there?
Spend. Out with the candle [Aside.]: who's that asks the question?
W. Rash. One that has some reason for't.
Spend. It should be, by the voice, young Rash.
Why, we are honest folks.
W. Rash. Pray, where do you dwell? Not in town, I hope?
Spend. Why, we dwell—zounds! where do we dwell? I know not where.