_Sir Greg._ A----damnably, Every time worse than other; yet her Uncle Thinks the day holds a Tuesday; say it did, Sir, She's so familiarly us'd to call me Rascal, She'll quite forget to wed me by my own name, And then that Marriage cannot hold in Law, you know. _Cun._ Will you leave all to me? _Sir Greg._ Who should I leave it to? _Cun._ 'Tis our luck to love Neeces; I love a Neece too. _Sir Greg._ I would you did y'faith. _Cun._ But mine's a kind wretch. _Sir Greg._ I marry Sir, I would mine were so too. _Cun._ No rascal comes in her mouth. _Sir Greg._ Troth, and mine has little else in hers. _Cun._ Mine sends me tokens, All the World knows not on. _Sir Greg._ Mine gives me tokens too, very fine tokens, But I dare not wear 'em. _Cun._ Mine's kind in secret. _Sir Greg._ And there mine's a hell-cat. _Cun._ We have a day set too. _Sir Greg._ 'Slid, so have we man, But there's no sign of ever coming together. _Cun._ I'll tell thee who 'tis, the old womans Neece. _Sir Greg._ Is't she? _Cun._ I would your luck had been no worse for mildness; But mum, no more words on't to your Lady. _Sir Greg._ Foh! _Cun._ No blabbing, as you love me. _Sir Greg._ None of our blood Were ever bablers. _Cun._ Prethee convey this Letter to her, But at any hand let not your Mistriss see't. _Sir Greg._ Yet agen Sir? _Cun._ There's a Jewel in't, The very art would make her doat upon't. _Sir Greg._ Say you so? And she shall see't for that trick only. _Cun._ Remember but your Mistriss, and all's well. _Sir Greg._ Nay, if I do not, hang me. [_Exit._ _Cun._ I believe you; This is the onely way to return a token, I know he will do't now, 'cause he's charg'd to'th' contrary. He's the nearest kin to a Woman, of a thing Made without substance, that a man can find agen, Some Petticoat begot him, I'll be whipt else, Engendring with an old pair of paund hose, Lying in some hot chamber o'er the Kitchin: Very steame bred him, He never came where _Rem in Re_ e'er grew; The generation of a hundred such Cannot make a man stand in a white sheet, For 'tis no act in Law, nor can a Constable Pick out a bawdy business for _Bridewell_ in't; _Enter_ Clown (_as a Gallant_.) A lamentable case, he's got with a Mans Urine, like a _Mandrake_. How now? hah? What prodigious bravery's this? A most preposterous Gallant, the Doublet sits As if it mock't the breeches. _Clow._ Save you, Sir. _Cun._ H'as put his tongue in the fine suit of words too. _Clow._ How does the party? _Cun._ Takes me for a Scrivener. Which of the parties?