_Const_. I must trust some body: Gain has made him mine, and now fear will keep him faithful. _To them_, BURR, FAILER, TIMOROUS, TRICE, _and_ NONSUCH. _Fail_. Pray, my lord, take no pique at it: 'Tis not given to all men to be confident: Egad, you shall see Sir Timorous will redeem all upon the next occasion. _Non_. A raw miching boy. _Isa_. And what are you but an old boy of five and fifty? I never knew any thing so humoursome--I warrant you, Sir Timorous; I'll speak for you. _Non_. Would'st thou have me be friends with him? for thy sake he shall only add five hundred a-year to her jointure, and I'll be satisfied: Come you hither, sir. [_Here_ TRICE _and_ NONSUCH _and_ TIMOROUS _talk privately_; BURR _with_ FAILER _apart_, CONSTANCE _with_ ISABELLA. _Const_. You'll not find your account in this trick to get Failer beaten; 'tis too palpable and open. _Isa_. I warrant you 'twill pass upon Burr for a time: So my revenge and your interest will go on together. _Fail_. Burr, there's mischief a-brewing, I know it by their whispering, I vow to gad: Look to yourself, their design is on you; for my part, I am a person that am above 'em. _Tim_. to _Trice_. But then you must speak for me, Mr Trice: and you too, my lord. _Non_. If you deny't again, I'll beat you; look to't, boy. _Trice_. Come on; I'll make the bargain. _Isa_. You were ever good in a flesh-market. _Trice_. Come, you little harlotry; what satisfaction can you give me for running away before the ruffs came in? _Const_. Why, I left you to 'em, that ever invite your own belly to the greatest part of all your feasts. _Trice_. I have brought you a knight here, huswife, with a plentiful fortune to furnish out a table; and what would you more? Would you be an angel in heaven? _Isa_. Your mind's ever upon your belly. _Trice_. No: 'tis sometimes upon yours: But, what say'st thou to sir Timorous, little Constance? _Const_. Would you have me married to that king Midas's face? _Trice_. Midas me no Midas; he's a wit; he understands eating and drinking well: _Poeta coquus_, the heathen philosopher could tell you that. _Const_. Come on, sir: what's your will with me? [_Laughs_. _Tim_. Why, madam, I could only wish we were a little better acquainted, that we might not laugh at one another so. _Const_. If the fool puts forward, I am undone. _Tim_. Fool!--do you know me, madam? _Const_. You may see I know you, because I call you by your name. _Fail_. You must endure these rebukes with patience, Sir Timorous. _Const_. What, are you planet struck? Look you, my lord, the gentleman's tongue-tied. _Non_. This is past enduring. _Fail_. 'Tis nothing, my lord;--courage, Sir Timorous. _Non_. I say 'tis past enduring; that's more than ever I told you yet: Do you come to make a fool of my daughter? _Isa_. Why lord-- _Non_. Why lady--[_Exit_ NONSUCH. _Trice_. Let's follow the old man, and pacify him. _Isa_. Now, cousin,--[_Exeunt_ ISA. TRICE, BURR.