_Neece._ He comes not this way yet: Away, you dog-whelp, Would you offer to come near me, though I said so? I'll make you understand my mind in time; [Your running] greedily, like a hound to his breakfast, That chops in head and all to beguile his fellows; I'm to be eaten, Sir, with Grace and leisure, Behaviour and discourse, things that ne'er trouble you; After I have pelted you sufficiently, I tro you will learn more manners. _Sir Greg._ I'm wondring still when we two shall come together? Tuesday's at hand, but I'm as far off, as I was at first, I swear. _Enter_ Gardianess. _Gard._ Now _Cuningame_, I'll be reveng'd at large: Lady, what was but all this while suspition, Is truth, full blown now, my Neece wears your Scarfe. _Neece._ Hah? _Gard._ Do but follow me, I'll place you instantly Where you shall see her courted by _Cuningame_. _Neece._ I go with greediness; we long for things That break our hearts sometimes, there's pleasures misery, [_Exeunt_ Neece _and_ Gard. _Sir Greg._ Where are those gad-flies going? to some Junket now; That some old _bumble-bee_ toles the young one forth To sweet meats after kind, let 'em look to't, The thing you wot on be not mist or gone, I bring a Maiden-head, and I look for one. _Which is only a Puppet so drest._ [_Exit._ _Enter_ Cunningame (_in discourse with a Mask't Gentlewoman_ _in a broad hat, and scarf'd_,) _Neece at another door._ _Cun._ Yes, yes. _Neece._ Too manifest now, the Scarfe and all. _Cun._ It cannot be, you're such a fearful soul. _Neece._ I'll give her cause of fear e'er I part from her. _Cun._ Will you say so? Is't not your Aunts desire too? _Neece._ What a dissembling croane's that! she'l forswear't now. _Cun._ I see my project takes, yonder's the grace on't. _Neece._ Who would put confidence in wit again, I'm plagu'd for my ambition, to desire A wise Man for a husband, and I see Fate will not have us go beyond our stint, We are allow'd but one dish, and that's Woodcock, It keeps up wit to make us friends and servants of, And thinks any thing's good enough to make us husbands; Oh that Whores hat o' thine, o' the riding block, A shade for lecherous kisses. _Cun._ Make you doubt on't? Is not my love of force? _Neece._ Yes, me it forces To tear that sorcerous strumpet from th' imbraces. _Cun._ Lady? _Neece._ Oh thou hast wrong'd the exquisit'st love-- _Cun._ What mean you, Lady? _Neece._ Mine, you'l answer for't. _Cun._ Alas, What seek you? _Neece._ Sir, mine own with loss. _Cun._ You shall. _Neece._ I never made so hard a bargain. _Cun._ Sweet Lady?