CARE. Lay three for battery.--What have we here? A she-creditor, too? Who would she speak with? _Enter_ FAITHFUL. WILD _and_ CARELESS _return and meet her_. WILD. She looks as if she had trusted in her time. CARE. Would you speak with any here, old gentlewoman? FAITH. My business is to Master Jolly. CARE. From yourself, or are you but a messenger? FAITH. My business, sir, is from a lady. CARE. From a lady! From what lady, pray? Why so coy? FAITH. From a lady in the town. CARE. Hoh, hoh! from a lady in the town! Is it possible? I should have guessed you came from a lady in the suburbs or some country-madam by your riding face. _Enter_ JOLLY _again_. JOLLY. I think we have routed the rascals. Faithful! what makes thy gravity in a tavern? FAITH. Sport, it seems, for your saucy companions. JOLLY. Ho, ho, Mull,[247] ho! No fury, Faithful. FAITH. 'Tis well, sir. My lady presents her service to you, and hath sent you a letter: there's my business. CARE. Prythee, who is her lady? JOLLY. The Lady Loveall. CARE. O, O, does she serve that old lady? God help her! FAITH. God help her! Pray for yourself, sir: my lady scorns your prayers. JOLLY. Faithful, come hither. Prythee, is thy lady drunk? FAITH. Drunk, sir? JOLLY. Ay, drunk or mad? she'd never writ this else. She requires me here to send back by you the pearl she gave me this morning, which, sure, she'd never do if she were sober; for, you know, I earned them hard. FAITH. I know! What do I know? You will not defame my lady, will you? CARE. By no means. This is by way of counsel. Fie! give a thing and take a thing?[248] If he did not perform, he shall come at night, and pay his scores. FAITH. 'Tis well, sir. Is this your return for my lady's favours? Shall I have the pearl, sir? JOLLY. No; and tell her, 'tis the opinion of us all, he that opens her stinking oyster[249] is worthy of the pearl. FAITH. You are a foul-mouthed fellow, sirrah, and I shall live to see you load a gallows, when my lady shall find the way to her own again. JOLLY. If she miss, there are divers can direct her, you know. Adieu, Faithful. Do you hear? Steal privately down by the back-door, lest some knavish boy spy thee, and call thine age Bawd. [_Exit_ FAITHFUL. CARE. Prythee, who is this thing? JOLLY. 'Tis my lady's waiting-woman, her bawd, her she-confessor, herself at second-hand. Her beginning was simple and below stairs, till her lady finding her to be a likely promising bawd, secret as the key at her girdle, obedient as her thoughts, those virtues raised her from the flat petticoat and kercher to the gorget and bumroll. And I remember 'twas good sport at first to see the wench perplexed with her metamorphosis. She since has been in love with all the family, and now sighs after the Levite; and if he forsake her too, I prophesy a waiting-woman's curse will fall upon her: to die old, despised, poor, and out of fashion. _Enter_ CAPTAIN.