_L. Du Lake_. [_Laying her hand on_ LOVEBY'S _head_.]
Son Loveby, I knew thy father well; and thy grandfather before him.
Fathers they were both to me; and I could weep for joy to see how thou
tak'st after them. [_Weeping again_.] I wish it lay in my power
too to gratify this worthy Justice in my vocation.

_Trice_. 'Faith, I doubt I am past that noble sin.

_Lov_. Pr'ythee, good magistrate, drink to her, and wipe sorrow
from her eyes.

_Trice_. Right reverend, my service to you in canary. [_She
drinks after him, and stays at half a glass_.

_L. Du Lake_. 'Tis a great way to the bottom; but heaven is
all-sufficient to give me strength for it. [_Drinks it up_.] Why,
God's blessing on your heart, son Trice! I hope 'tis no offence to
call you son? hem!--hem!--Son Loveby, I think my son Trice and I are
much of the same years: let me see, son, if nature be utterly extinct
in you: Are you ticklish, son Trice? [_Tickles him_.

_Trice_. Are you ticklish, Mother Du Lake?

[_Tickles her sides. She falls off her chair; he falls off his to
her; they roll one over the other_.

_Lov_. I would have all London now show me such another sight of
kindness in old age. [_They help each other up_.] Come, a dance,
a dance; call for your clerk, Justice; he shall make one, in sign of
amity. Strike up, fidlers!

[_They dance a round dance, and sing the tune_.

_Enter_ ISABELLA _and_ CONSTANCE.

_Isa_. Are you at that sport, i'faith? Have among you, blind
harpers. [_She falls into the dance_.

[_At the dance's ending_, LOVEBY _sees_ CONSTANCE.

_Trice_. Is she come? A pox of all honest women at such a time!

_Lov_. If she knows who these are, by this light, I am undone.

_Const_. Oh, servant! I come to mind you of your promise. Come,
produce my hundred pounds; the time's out I set you.

_Lov_. Not till dark night, upon my reputation! I have not yet
spoke with the gentleman in the black pantaloons; you know he seldom
walks abroad by day-light. Dear madam, let me wait on you to your
coach; and, if I bring it not within this hour, discard me utterly.

_Const_. You must give me leave to salute the company. What are
they?

_Lov_. Persons of quality of my acquaintance; but I'll make your
excuse to 'em.

_Const_. Nay, if they are persons of quality, I shall be rude to
part from 'em so abruptly.

_Lov_. Why so?--the devil owed me a shame; and now he has paid
me. I must present 'em, whate'er come on't. [_Aside_.]--This,
madam, is