_O. K._ Mass that's true Neece, I ne'er thought upon that; the Scarfe she gave you--Sir? What dumb? No answer from you? the Scarfe? _Sir Greg._ I was way-laid about it, my life threatned; Life's life, Scarfe's but a Scarfe, and so I parted from't. _Neece._ Unfortunate woman! my first favor too? _O. K._ Will you be still an ass? no reconcilement 'Twixt you and wit? Are you so far fallen out, You'l never come together? I tell you true, I'm very lowsily asham'd on you, That's the worst shame that can be; Thus bayting on him: now his heart's hook't in, I'll make him, e'er I ha' done, take her with nothing, I love a man that lives by his wits alife; Nay leave, sweet Neece, 'tis but a Scarfe, let it go. _Neece._ The going of it never grieves me, Sir. It is the manner, the manner-- _Sir Greg._ O dissembling Marmaset! If I durst speak, Or could be believ'd when I speak, What a tale could I tell, to make hair stand upright now! _Neece._ Nay, Sir, at your request you shall perceive, Uncle, With what renewing love I forgive this: Here's a fair Diamond, Sir, I'll try how long You can keep that. _Sir Greg._ Not very long, you know't too, Like a cunning witch as you are. _Neece._ Y'are best let him ha' that too. _Sir Greg._ So I were, I think, there were no living else, I thank you, as you have handled the matter. _O. K._ Why this is musical now, and Tuesday next Shall tune your Instruments, that's the day set. _Neece._ A match, good Uncle. _O. K._ Sir, you hear me too? _Sir Greg._ Oh very well, I'm for you. _Neece._ What e'er you hear, you know my mind. [_Exeunt Old Knight and Neece._ _Sir Gre._ I, a ---- on't, too well, if I do not wonder how we two shall come together, I'm a Bear whelp? he talks of Tuesday next, as familiarly, as if we lov'd one another, but 'tis as unlikely to me, as 'twas seven year before I saw her; I shall try his cunning, it may be he has a way was never yet thought on, and it had need to be such a one, for all that I can think on will never do't; I look to have this Diamond taken from me very speedily, therefore I'll take it off o' my finger, for if it be seen, I shall be way-laid for that too. [_Exit._ _Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima._ _Enter Old Knight, and Witty-pate._ _O. K._ Oh torture! torture! thou carriest a sting i'thy tail, Thou never brought'st good news i'thy life yet, And that's an ill quality, leave it when thou wilt. _Witty._ Why you receive a blessing the wrong way, Sir, Call you not this good newes? to save at once Sir Your credit and your kinsmans life together; Would it not vex your peace, and gaule your worth? T'have one of your name hang'd? _O. K._ Peace, no such words, boy.