_Old K._ You will say so then, Alas sweet Neece, all this is but the scabbard, Now I draw forth the weapon. _Neece._ How? _Old K._ Sir _Gregory_, Approach thou lad of thousands. _Enter_ Sir Gregory. _Sir Gr._ Who calls me? _Neece._ What motion's this, the Model of _Ninivie_? _Old K._ Accost her daintily now, let me advise thee. _Sir Gr._ I was advis'd to bestow dainty cost on you. _Neece._ You were ill advis'd, back, and take better counsel; You may have good for an Angel, the least cost You can bestow upon a woman, Sir Trebles ten Counsellors Fees in Lady-ware, Y'are over head and ears, e'r you be aware, Faith keep a batchelor still, and go to Bowls, Sir, Follow your Mistriss there, and prick and save, Sir; For other Mistresses will make you a slave, Sir. _Sir Gr._ So, so, I have my lerrepoop already. _Old K._ Why how now _Neece_, this is the man I tell you. _Neece._ He, hang him, Sir, I know you do but mock, This is the man you would say. _Old K._ The Devil rides I think. _Cun._ I must use cunning here. _Old K._ Make me not mad, use him with all respect, This is the man I swear. _Neece._ Would you could perswade me to that; Alass, you cannot go beyond me Uncle, You carry a Jest well, I must confess, For a man of your years, but-- _Old K._ I'm wrought beside my self. _Cun._ I never beheld comliness till this minute. _Guar._ Oh good sweet Sir, pray offer not these words To an old Gentlewoman. _Neece._ Sir. _Cun._ Away fifteen, Here's Fifty one exceeds thee. _Neece._ What's the business? _Cun._ Give me these motherly creatures, come, ne'er smother it, I know you are a teeming woman yet. _Guard._ Troth a young Gent. might do much I think, Sir. _Cun._ Go too then. _Guard._ And I should play my part, or I were ingrateful. _Neece._ Can you so soon neglect me! _Cun._ Hence I'm busie. _Old K._ This cross point came in luckily, impudent baggage. Hang from the Gentleman, art thou not asham'd To be a Widows hind'rance? _Cun._ Are you angry, Sir? _Old K._ You're welcome, pray court on, I shall desire Your honest wise acquaintance; vex me not After my care and pains to find a match for thee, Lest I confine thy life to some out-chamber, Where thou shalt waste the sweetness of thy youth, Like a consuming Light in her own socket, And not allow'd a male creature about thee; A very Monky, thy necessity Shall prize at a thousand pound, a Chimney sweeper At Fifteen hundred. _Neece._ But are you serious, Uncle? _Old K._ Serious. _Neece._ Pray let me look upon the Gentleman With more heed; then I did but hum him over In haste, good faith, as Lawyers Chancery sheets; Beshrew my blood, a tollerable man, Now I distinctly read him.