_Nee._ I would ha' sworn 'twould ne'er ha been a match once. _Cun._ I'll hear no more, I'm mad to hear so much, Why should I aim my thoughts at better fortunes Than younger brothers have? that's a Maid with nothing, Or some old Soap-boilers Widow, without Teeth, There waits my fortune for me, seek no farther. [_Ex._ Cun. _Enter_ Old Knight, _and_ Sir Gregory. _Old K._ You tell me things, _Sir Gregory_, that cannot be. She will not, nor she dares not. _Sir Gr._ Would I were whipt then. _Nee._ I'll make as little shew of love, _Sir Gregory_, As ever Woman did, you shall not know You have my heart a good while. _Old K._ Heard you that? _Nee._ Man will insult so soon, 'tis his condition, 'Tis good to keep him off as long as we can, I've much ado, I swear; and love i' th' end Will have his course, let Maids do what they can, They are but frail things till they end in man. _Old K._ What say you to this, Sir? _Sir Gr._ This is somewhat handsome. _Nee._ And by that little wrangling that I fain'd, Now I shall try how constant his love is, Although't went sore against my heart to chide him. _Sir Gr._ Alas poor Gentlewoman. _Old K._ Now y'are sure of truth, You hear her own thoughts speak. _Sir Gr._ They speak indeed. _Old K._ Go, you're a brainless Coax; a Toy, a Fop, I'll go no farther than your name, _Sir Gr[egory]_ I'll right my self there; were you from this place, You should perceive I'm heartily angry with you, Offer to sow strife 'twixt my Neece and I? Good morrow Neece, good morrow. _Nee._ Many fair ones to you, Sir. _Old K._ Go, you're a Coxcomb. How dost Neece this morning? An idle shallow fool: sleep'st thou well, Girl? Fortune may very well provide thee Lordships, For honesty has left thee little manners. _Sir Gr._ How am I bang'd o'both sides! _Old K._ Abuse kindnesse? Will't take the air to day Neece? _Nee._ When you please, Sir, There stands the Heir behind you I must take, (Which I'd as lieve take, as take him I swear.) _Old K._ La' you; do you hear't continued to your teeth now? A pox of all such _Gregories_; what a hand [_Neece lets fall her Scarfe._ Have I with you! _Sir Gr._ No more y'feck, I ha' done, Sir: Lady, your Scarf's fal'n down. _Nee._ 'Tis but your luck, Sir, And does presage the Mistriss must fall shortly, You may wear it, and you please. _Old K._ There's a trick for you, You're parlously belov'd, you should complain. _Sir Gr._ Yes, when I complain, Sir, Then do your worst, there I'll deceive you, Sir. _Old K._ You are a Dolt, and so I leave you, Sir. [_Exit._