_Unc._ I would you knew your self, but since you are grown such a strange enemy to all that fits you, give me leave to make your Brothers fortune. _Val._ How? _Unc._ From your mortgage, which yet you may recover, I'le find the means. _Val._ Pray save your labour Sir, my Brother and my self will run one fortune, and I think what I hold a meer vexation, cannot be safe for him, I love him better, he has wit at will, the world has means, he shall live without this trick of state, we are heirs both, and all the world before us. _Unc._ My last offer, and then I am gone. _Val._ What is't, and then I'le answer. _Unc._ What think you of a wife yet to restore you, and tell me seriously without these trifles. _Val._ And you can find one, that can please my fancy, you shall not find me stubborn. _Unc._ Speak your Woman. _Val._ One without eyes, that is, self commendations, for when they find they are handsom, they are unwholsome; one without ears, not giving time to flatterers, for she that hears her self commended, wavers, and points men out a way to make 'em wicked; one without substance of her self; that woman without the pleasure of her life, that's wanton; though she be young, forgetting it, though fair, making her glass the eyes of honest men, not her own admiration, all her ends obedience, all her hours new blessings, if there may be such a woman. _Unc._ Yes there may be. _Val._ And without state too. _Unc._ You are disposed to trifle, well, fare you well Sir, when you want me next, you'l seek me out a better sence. _Val._ Farewell Uncle, and as you love your estate, let not me hear on't. [_Exit._ _Unc._ It shall not trouble you, I'le watch him still, And when his friends fall off then bend his will. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Isabella, _and_ Luce. _Luce._ I know the cause of all this sadness now, your sister has ingrost all the brave Lovers. _Isab._ She has wherewithall, much good may't do her, prethee speak softly, we are open to mens ears. _Luce._ Fear not, we are safe, we may see all that pass, hear all, and make our selves merry with their language, and yet stand undiscovered, be not melancholy, you are as fair as she. _Isab._ Who I? I thank you, I am as haste ordain'd me, a thing slubber'd, my sister is a goodly portly Lady, a woman of a presence, she spreads sattens, as the Kings ships do canvas every where, she may spare me her misen, and her bonnets, strike her main Petticoat, and yet outsail me, I am a Carvel to her. _Luce._ But a tight one. _Isab._ She is excellent, well built too. _Luce._ And yet she's old. _Isab._ She never saw above one voyage _Luce_, and credit me after another, her Hull will serve again, a right good Merchant: she plaies, and sings too, dances and discourses, comes very near Essays, a pretty Poet, begins to piddle with Philosophic, a subtil Chymick Wench, and can extract the Spirit of mens Estates, she has the light before her, and cannot miss her choice for me, 'tis reason I wait my mean fortune.