_Neece._ I would not have believ'd him, Thou might'st have perceiv'd how I mock'd thy folly. In wanton imitation with the Fool, Go weep the sin of thy credulity, Not of thy loss, for it was never thine, And it is gain to miss it; wert thou so dull? Nay, yet thou'rt stupid and uncapable, Why, thou wert but the bait to fish with, not The prey, the stale to catch another Bird with. _Guard._ Indeed he call'd me Bird. _Neece._ Yet thou perceiv'st not, It is your Neece he loves, wouldst thou be made A stalking Jade? 'tis she examine it, I'll hurry all awry, and tread my path Over unbeaten grounds, go level to the mark, Not by circular bouts, rare things are pleasing, And rare's but seldom in the simple sence, But has her _Emphasis_ with eminence. [_Exit._ _Guard._ My Neece? she the rival of my abuse? My flesh and blood wrong me? I'll Aunt her for't; _Enter_ Mirabel. Oh opportunity, thou blessest me Now Gentlewoman are you parted so soon? Where's your friend I pray? your _Cuningam_? _Mir._ What say you Aunt? _Guard._ Come, come, your _Cuningame_? I am not blind with age yet, nor deaf. _Mir._ Dumb I am sure you are not, what ail you Aunt? Are you not well? _Guard._ No, nor sick, nor mad, nor in my wits, nor sleeping, nor waking, nor nothing, nor any thing; I know not what I am, nor what I am not. _Mir._ Mercy cover us, what do you mean, Aunt? _Guard._ I mean to be reveng'd. _Mir._ On whom? _Guard._ On thee Baggage. _Mir._ Revenge should follow injury, Which never reacht so far as thought in me Towards you Aunt. _Guard._ Your cunning, minion, Nor your _Cuningame_; can either blind me, The gentle Beggar loves you. _Mir._ Beseech you, Let me stay your error, I begin to hear, And shake off my amazement; if you think That ever any passage treating love Hath been betwixt us yet commenc'd, any Silent eye-glance that might but sparkle fire, So much as Brother and Sister might meet with, The Lip-salute, so much as strangers might Take a farewel with, the commixed hands, Nay, but the least thought of the least of these; In troth you wrong your bosom, by that truth (Which I think yet you durst be bail for in me, If it were offer'd ye) I am as free As all this protestation. _Guard._ May I believe this? _Mir._ If ever you'll believe truth: why, I thought he had spoke love to you, and if his heart prompted his tongue, sure I did hear so much. _Guard._ Oh falsest man, _Ixion's_ plague fell on me, Never by woman (such a _masculine_ cloud) So airy and so subtle was embrac'd. _Mir._ By no cause in me, by my life dear Aunt.