_Luce._ You are so bashfull. _Isab._ It is not at first word up and ride, thou art cozen'd, that would shew mad i' faith: besides, we lose the main part of our politick government: if we become provokers, then we are fair, and fit for mens imbraces, when like towns, they lie before us ages, yet not carried, hold out their strongest batteries, then compound too without the loss of honour, and march off with our fair wedding, Colours flying. Who are these? _Enter_ Franc, _and_ Lance. _Luce._ I know not, nor I care not. _Isab._ Prethee peace then, a well built Gentleman. _Luce._ But poorly thatcht. _Lance._ Has he devour'd you too? _Fran._ H'as gulp'd me down _Lance_. _Lance._ Left you no means to study? _Fran._ Not a farthing: dispatcht my poor annuity I thank him, here's all the hope I have left, one bare ten shillings. _Lan._ You are fit for great mens services. _Fran._ I am fit, but who'le take me thus? mens miseries are now accounted stains in their natures. I have travelled, and I have studied long, observed all Kingdoms, know all the promises of Art and manners, yet that I am not bold, nor cannot flatter, I shall not thrive, all these are but vain Studies, art thou so rich as to get me a lodging _Lance_? _Lan._ I'le sell the titles of my house else, my Horse, my Hawk, nay's death I'le pawn my wife: Oh Mr. _Francis_, that I should see your Fathers house fall thus! _Isab._ An honest fellow. _Lan._ Your Fathers house, that fed me, that bred up all my name! _Isab._ A gratefull fellow. _Lan._ And fall by-- _Fran._ Peace, I know you are angry _Lance_, but I must not hear with whom, he is my Brother, and though you hold him slight, my most dear Brother: A Gentleman, excepting some few rubs, he were too excellent to live here else, fraughted as deep with noble and brave parts, the issues of a noble and manly Spirit, as any he alive. I must not hear you; though I am miserable, and he made me so, yet still he is my Brother, still I love him, and to that tye of blood link my affections. _Isab._ A noble nature! dost thou know him _Luce_? _Luce._ No, Mistress. _Isab._ Thou shouldest ever know such good men, what a fair body and mind are married! did he not say he wanted? _Luce._ What's that to you? _Isab._ 'Tis true, but 'tis great pity. _Luce._ How she changes! ten thousand more than he, as handsom men too. _Isab._ 'Tis like enough, but as I live, this Gentleman among ten thousand thousand! is there no knowing him? why should he want? fellows of no merit, slight and puft souls, that walk like shadows, by leaving no print of what they are, or poise, let them complain. _Luce._ Her colour changes strangely. _Isab._ This man was made, to mark his wants to waken us; alas poor Gentleman, but will that keep him from cold and hunger, believe me he is well bred, and cannot be but of a noble linage, mark him, mark him well. _Luce._ 'Is a handsom man. _Isab._ The sweetness of his sufferance sets him off, O _Luce_, but whither go I?