_Cun._ Not a whit i'faith, Bird, betwixt you and I, I am beholding for bettering of my knowledg. _Guard._ Nay, you shall know more of me, if you'll be rul'd But make not things common. _Cun._ Ud' so, your Lady? _Guard._ I, 'tis no matter, she'll like well of this, Our familiarity is her content. _Enter Neece and Clown._ _Nee._ This present from Sir _Greg[o]ry_? _Clow._ From my Master, the Worshipful, right Sir _Greg[o]ry Fop_. _Nee._ A Ruffe? and what might be his high conceit In sending of a Ruff? _Clow._ I think he had two conceits in it forsooth, too high too Low, Ruff high, because as the Ruff does embrace your neck all day, so does he desire to throw his Knightly Arms. _Nee._ But then I leave him off a-nights. _Clow._ Why then he is ruffe low, a ruffian, a bold adventurous errand to do any rough service for his Lady. _Nee._ A witty and unhappy conceit, does he mean As he seems to say unto that reverence? [_Toward_ Cuning. He does wooe her sure. _Clow._ To tell [you] truth, Lady, his conceit was far better than I have blaz'd it yet. _Nee._ Do you think so, Sir? _Clow._ Nay, I know it forsooth, for it was two days, e'r he compass'd it, to find a fitting present for your Ladyship, he was sending once a very fine Puppy to you. _Nee._ And that he would have brought himself. _Clow._ So he would indeed, but then he alter'd his device, and sent this Ruffe; requesting withall, that whensoever it is foul, you (with your own hands) would bestow the starching of it. _Nee._ Else she wooes him, now his eyes shoots this way; And what was the reason for that, Sir? [_Toward_ Cun. _Clow._ There lies his main conceit, Lady, for says he, In so doing she cannot chuse but in the starching, to clap it often between her hands, and so she gives a great liking and applause to my Present, whereas, if I should send a Puppy, she ever calls it to her with hist, hiss, hiss, which is a fearful disgrace, he drew the device from a Play, at the _Bull_ tother day. _Nee._ I marry Sir, this was a rich conceit indeed. _Clow._ And far fetch'd, therefore good for you, Lady. _Guard._ How now? which way look you, Bird? _Cun._ At the Fool Bird, shall I not look at the Fool? _Guard._ At the Fool and I here? what need that? pray look this way. _Nee._ I'll fit him aptly, either I'll awake His wits (if he have any,) or force him To appear (as yet I cannot think him) Without any. Sirrah, tell me one thing true That I shall aske you now, Was this device Your Masters own? I doubt his wit in it; He's not so ingen[i]us. _Clow._ His own I assure you, Madam. _Nee._ Nay, you must not lye.