_Isab._ You must needs play the fool. _Short._ 'Tis my profession. _Isab._ How is he a man, and no man? _Short._ He's a begger, only the sign of a man, the bush pull'd down, which shows the house stands emptie. _Isab._ What's his calling? _Short._ They call him begger. _Isab._ What's his kindred? _Short._ Beggers. _Isab._ His worth? _Short._ A learned begger, a poor Scholar. _Isab._ How does he live? _Short._ Like worms, he eats old Books. _Isab._ Is _Valentine_ his Brother. _Short._ His begging Brother. _Isab._ What may his name be? _Short._ _Orson_. _Isab._ Leave your fooling. _Short._ You had as good say, leave your living. _Isab._ Once more tell me his name directly. _Short._ I'le be hang'd first, unless I heard him Christned, but I can tell what foolish people call him. _Isab._ What? _Short._ _Francisco_. _Isab._ Where lies this learning, Sir? _Short._ In _Pauls_ Church yard forsooth. _Isab._ I mean the Gentleman, fool. _Short._ O that fool, he lies in loose sheets every where, that's no where. _Luce._ You have glean'd since you came to _London_: in the Country, _Shorthose_, you were an arrant fool, a dull cold coxcombe, here every Tavern teaches you, the pint pot has so belaboured you with wit, your brave acquaintance that gives you Ale, so fortified your mazard, that now there's no talking to you. _Isab._ 'Is much improved, a fellow, a fine discourser. _Short._ I hope so, I have not waited at the tail of wit so long to be an Ass. _Luce._ But say now, _Shorthose_, my Lady should remove into the Country. _Short._ I had as lieve she should remove to Heaven, and as soon I would undertake to follow her. _Luce._ Where no old Charnico is, nor no Anchoves, nor Master such-a-one, to meet at the Rose, and bring my Lady, such-a-ones chief Chamber-maid. _Isab._ No bouncing healths to this brave Lad, dear _Shorthose_, nor down o'th' knees to that illustrious Lady. _Luce._ No fiddles, nor no lusty noise of drawer, carry this pottle to my Father _Shorthose_. _Isab._ No plays, nor gaily foists, no strange Embassadors to run and wonder at, till thou beest oyl, and then come home again, and lye byth' Legend. _Luc._ Say she should go. _Short._ If I say, I'le be hang'd, or if I thought she would go. _Luce._ What? _Short._ I would go with her. _Luce._ But _Shorthose_, where thy heart is? _Isab._ Do not fright him. _Luce._ By this hand Mistris 'tis a noise, a loud one too, and from her own mouth, presently to be gone too, but why, or to what end? _Short._ May not a man die first? she'l give him so much time. _Isab._ Gone o'th' sudden? thou dost but jest, she must not mock the Gentlemen. _Luce._ She has put them off a month, th[e]y dare not see her, believe me Mistris, what I hear I tell you.