_Witty._ To him? oh fie upon your error, she has another object, believe it, Sir. _Old K._ I never could perceive it. _Cun._ I did Sir, and to her shame I should speak it, To my own sorrow I saw it, dalliance, Nay, dotage with a very Clown, a Fool. _Old K._ Wit and wantons? nothing else? nothing else? She love a fool? she'll sooner make a Fool Of a wise man. _Cun._ I, my friend complains so, Sir _Gregory_ says flatly, she makes a fool of him, And these bold circumstances are approv'd: Favours have been sent by him, yet he ignorant Whither to carry 'em; they have been understood, And taken from him, certain, Sir, there is An unsuspected fellow lies conceal'd, What, or where e'er he is, these slight neglects Could not be of a Knight else. _Old K._ Well Sir, you have promis'd (if we recover him Unmarried) to salve all these old bruises? _Cun._ I'll do my best, Sir. _Old K._ I shall thank you, costly Sir, and kindly too. _Witty._ Will you talk away the time here, Sir, and come behind all your purposes? _Old K._ Away good Sir. _Witty._ Then stay a little, good Sir, for my advice, Why, Father are you broke? your wit beggar'd, Or are you at your wits end? or out of Love with wit? no trick of wit to surprize Those designs, but with open Hue and Cry, For all the world to talk on, this is strange, You were not wont to slubber a project so. _Old K._ Can you help at a pinch now? shew your self My Son, go too, I leave this to your wit, Because I'll make a proof on't. _Witty._ 'Tis thus then, I have had late intelligence, they are now Bucksom as _Bacchus_ Froes, revelling, dancing, Telling the Musicks numbers with their feet, Awaiting the meeting of p[re]monish'd friends, That's questionless, little dreading you, Now Sir, with a dexterous trick indeed, suddain And sufficient were well, to enter on um As something like the abstract of a Masque; What though few persons? if best for our purpose That commends the project. _Old K._ This takes up time. _Witty._ Not at all, I can presently furnish With loose disguises that shall fit that Scene. _Old K._ Why what wants then? _Witty._ Nothing but charge of Musick, That must be paid, you know. _Old K._ That shall be my charges, I'll pay the Musick. What e'er it cost. _Witty._ And that shall be all your charge, Now on, I like it, there will be wit in't Father. [_Exit_ Old K. _and_ Witty. _Cun._ I will neither distrust his wit nor friendship, Yet if his Master brain should be o'er-thrown My resolution now shall seize mine own. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Neece, _Lady_ Ruinous, Guardianess, Ruinous, Priscian, (_with instruments masqu'd_.)