_Old K._ How? bate ten pound? what's the whole sum then? _Witty._ Faith Sir, a hundred pound, with much adoe, I got fifty bated, and faith Father, to say truth, 'Tis reasonable for men of their fashion. _Old K._ La, la, la, down, a hunder'd pound? la, la, la, You are a Consort of Thieves, are you not? _Witty._ No Musicians, Sir, I told you before. _Old K._ Fiddle faddle, is it not a robbery? a plain robbery. _Witty._ No, no, no, by no means Father, you have receiv'd For your money, nay and that you cannot give back, 'Tis somewhat dear I confess, but who can help it? If they had been agreed with before-hand, 'Twas ill forgotten. _Old [K]._ And how many shares have you in this? I see my force, Case up your instruments, I yield, here, as robb'd and Taken from me, I deliver it. _Witty._ No Sir, you have perform'd your promise now, Which was, to pay the charge of Musick, that's all. _Old K._ I have heard no Musick, I have receiv'd none, Sir, There's none to be found in me, nor about me. _Witty._ Why Sir, here's witness against you, you have danc'd, And he that dances, acknowledges a receipt of Musick. _Old K._ I denie that, Sir, look you, I can dance without Musick, do you see, Sir? and I can sing without it too; you are a Consort of Thieves, do you hear what I do? _Witty._ Pray you take heed, Sir, if you do move the Musick agen, it may cost you as much more. _Old K._ Hold, hold, I'll depart quietly, I need not bid you farewel, I think now, so long as that hundred [pound] lasts with you. _Enter Guardianess._ Ha, ha, am I snapt i'faith? _Guar._ Oh, Sir, _Perfidious_. _Old K._ I, I, some howling another while, Musick's too damnable dear. _Guard._ Oh Sir, my heart-strings are broke, if I can but live to tell you the tale, I care not, your Neece my charge is-- _Old K._ What, is she sick? _Guard._ No, no Sir, she's lustily well married. _Old K._ To whom? _Guard._ Oh, to that cunning dissembler, _Cuningam_. _Old K._ I'll hang the Priest, first, what was he? _Guard._ Your kinsman, Sir, that has the _Welch_ Benefice. _Old K._ I sav'd him from the Gallows to that end, good: is there any more? _Guard._ And Sir _Gregory_ is married too. _Old K._ To my Neece too, I hope, and then I may hang her. _Guard._ No Sir, to my Neece, thank _Cupid_; and that's all that's likely to recover me, she's Lady _Fop_ now, and I am One of her Aunts, I thank my promotion. _Enter_ Credulous, Cuningam, Neece, Sir Gregory, _and_ Mirabel. _Cred._ I have perform'd your be[he]st, Sir. _Old K._ What have you perform'd, Sir?