+Ear.+ I can make thee a hundred a year jointure, wench. At the first, indeed, I began with petty businesses, wench; and here I picked, and there I picked; but now I run through none but things of value. +Moll.+ Sir, many thoughts trouble me; and your words carry such weight, that I will choose a time, when I have nothing else to do, to think on 'em. +Ear.+ By my troth, she talks the wittiliest, an' I would understand her. +Blood.+ O nimble, nimble widow! I am sorry we have no better friends; [_To +John+_] but pray, commend me, though in a blunt, dry commendation; at the time and place appointed I wonnot fail. I know she has a nest of suitors, and would carry it close, because she fears surprisal. [_Exit +John+._ +Ear.+ What news, father? +Blood.+ Shalt lie there all night, son. +Ear.+ Was that the first news I heard on't? +Blood.+ I must meet a friend i' th' dark soon: let me see, we lovers are all a little mad; do you and Moll take a turn or two i' th' garden, whilst Sim and I go up into the garret and devise till the guests come. [_Exit._ +Sim.+ He's a little mad. I had best hang him upon the cross-beam in the garret. [_Exit._ +Ear.+ Come, Moll, come, Malkin:[50] we'll even to the camomile bed, and talk of household stuff; and be sure thou rememberest a trade. +Moll.+ Please you go before, sir. +Ear.+ Nay, an old ape has an old eye; I shall go before, an' thou woot show me a love-trick, and lock me into the garden. I will come discreetly behind, Moll. +Moll.+ Out upon him, what a suitor have I got! I am sorry you're so bad an archer, sir. +Ear.+ Why, bird, why, bird? +Moll.+ Why, to shoot at butts, when you should use prick-shafts: short shooting will lose you the game, I assure you, sir. +Ear.+ Her mind runs, sure, upon a fletcher[51] or a bowyer: howsoever, I'll inform against both; the fletcher, for taking whole money for pierced arrows: the bowyer, for horning the headmen of his parish, and taking money for his pains. [_Exeunt._ _Enter in the tavern, +Alexander+, the +Captain+, +Lieutenant+, +Sue Shortheels+, and +Mistress Coote+, a bawd._ +Alex.+ Some rich canary, boy. +Drawer.+ Anon, anon, sir. +Alex.+ [Is't] possible? Thus cheated of a hundred Pieces? A handsome halter, and the hangman's Wages popp'd in the place! What an acute wit We have in wickedness! +Capt.+ 'Tis done, and handsomely. _Enter +Drawer+._ +Drawer.+ Here's a pottle of rich canary and a quart of neat claret, gentlemen; and there's a gentleman below, he says he is your brother, Master Bloodhound: he appointed to meet you here.