_Ang._ Save you Sir, how does my Mistris? _Fred._ She is in love I think, but not with you I can assure you: saw ye _Fabritio_? _Ang._ Is he come over? _Fred._ Yes a week ago: Shall we dine? _Ang._ I cannot. _Fred._ Prethee do. _Ang._ Believe me I have business. _Fred._ Have you too, Gentlemen? _Piso._ No Sir. _Fred._ Why then let's dine together. _Lod._ With all my heart. _Fred._ Go then: Farewel good _Angelo_, Commend me to your friend. _Ang._ I will. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II. _Enter_ Frank, _and_ Clora. _Clo._ Do not dissemble _Frank_, mine eyes are quicker Than such observers, that do ground their faith Upon one smile or tear; y'are much alter'd, And are as empty of those excellencies That were companions to you; I mean mirth And free disposure of your blood and Spirit, As you were born a mourner. _Fran._ How I prethee? For I perceive no such change in my self. _Clo._ Come, come, this is not wise, nor provident To halt before a Cripple: if you love, Be liberal to your friend, and let her know it, I see the way you run, and know how tedious 'Twill prove without a true companion. _Fran._ Sure thou wouldst have me love. _Clo._ Yes marry would I, I should not please ye else. _Fran._ And who for Heavens sake? For I assure my self, I know not yet: And prethee _Clora_, since thou'lt have it so That I must love, and do I know not what: Let him be held a pretty handsome fellow, And young, and if he be a little valiant 'Twill be the better; and a little wise, And faith a little honest. _Clor._ Well I will sound ye yet for all your craft. _Fran._ Heigh ho! I'le love no more. _Clo._ Than one; and him You shall love _Frank_. _Fran._ Which him? thou art so wise People will take thee shortly for a Witch: But prethee tell me _Clora_, if I were So mad as thou wouldst make me, what kind of man Wouldst thou imagine him? _Clo._ Faith some pretty fellow, With a clean strength, that cracks a cudgel well And dances at a Wake, and plays at Nine-holes. _Fran._ O what pretty commendations thou hast given him! Faith if I were in love as I thank Heaven I do not think I am; this short _Epistle_ Before my love would make me burn the _Legend_. _Clor._ You are too wild, I mean some Gentleman. _Fran._ So do not I, till I can know 'em wiser: Some Gentleman? no _Clora_, till some Gentleman Keep some land, and fewer whores, believe me I'le keep no love for him, I do not long To go a foot yet, and solicite causes. _Clor._ What think you then of an adventurer? I mean some wealthy Merchant.