Enter Sad and Constant, and meet Secret; she whispers this to Sad.
Sec. Sir, 'tis done.
Sad. Be secret and grave, I'll warrant our design will take as we can wish.
Con. Sweet Mistress Pleasant!
Wid. Servant Sad.
Sad. Madam.
Wid. We are threatened to have a war waged against us: will you not second us?
Sad. With these youths we'll do enough, madam.
Wid. I'll swear my servant gave hit for hit this morning, as if he had been a master in the noble science of wit.
Plea. Mine laid about him with spick and span[224] new arguments, not like the same man: his old sayings and precedents laid by.