|1125| _Sir quin._ All’s one for that, she has a vizard in a bagge, will make her looke like an Angell; I wod I had her, vpon condition, I gaue thee this chaine manlie Tucca. _Tuc._ I? saist thou so Friskin? I haue her ath hip for some causes, I can sound her, she’ll come at my becke. |1130| _Sir quin._ Wod I could sound her too Noble commaunder. _Tuc._ Thou shalt doo’t; that Lady ath Lake is thine Sir Tristram, lend mee thy chaine, doe, lend it, Ile make her take it as a token, Ile lincke her vnto thee; and thou shalt weare her gloue in thy Worshipfull hatte like to a leather brooch; Nay and thou |1135| mistrusts thy coller, be tyed in’t still. _Sir quin._ Mistrust Captaine? no, heere tis, giue it her if she’ll take it, or weare it thy selfe, if shee’ll take mee, Ile watch him well enough too. _Tuc._ No more, Ile shoote away yonder Prickshaft, and then |1140| belabour her, and flye you after yonder Cucko: dost heere me my noble Gold-finch?---- _Sir qui._ No more. _Tuc._ How dost thou my smug Belimperia? how dost thou? hands off my little bald Derricke, hands off: harke hether |1145| Susanna, beware a these two wicked Elders, shall I speake well or ill of thee? _Min._ Nay, eene as you please Captaine, it shal be at your choise. _Tuc._ Why well said, my nimble Short-hose. |1150| _Sir quin._ I heare her, I heare her. _Tuc._ Art angry father time? art angrie because I tooke mother-Winter aside? Ile holde my life thou art strucke with Cupids Birde-bolt, my little prickshaft, art? dost loue that mother Mumble-crust, dost thou? dost long for that whim-wham? |1155| _Sir Ada._ Wod I were as sure to lye with her, as to loue her. _Tuc._ Haue I found thee my learned Dunce, haue I found thee? If I might ha my wil, thou shouldst not put thy spoone into that bumble-broth (for indeede Ide taste her my selfe) no thou shouldst not; yet if her beautie blinde thee, she’s thine, I can doo’t, thou |1160| heardst her say eene now, it should bee at my choice. _Sir Ada._ She did so, worke the match and Ile bestow-- _Tuc._ Not a silke point vpon mee, little Adam shee shall bee thy Eeue, for lesse then an Apple; but send, bee wise, send her some token, shee’s greedie, shee shall take it, doe, send, thou |1165| shalt sticke in her (Prickeshaft) but send. _Sir Adam._ Heer’s a purse of golde, thinke you that wil be accepted? _Tuc._ Goe to, it shall bee accepted, and twere but siluer, when that Flea-bitten Short-hose steppes hence: vanish too, and let |1170| mee alone with my Grannam in Gutter-Lane there, and this purse of golde doe, let me alone. _Sir quint._ The King, gods Lord, I doe forget the King; Widdow, thinke on my wordes, I must be gone To waite his rising, Ile returne anone. |1175| _Sir Ad._ Stay Sir Quintilian, Ile be a waiter too. _Sir quinti._ Widdow wee’ll trust that Captaine there with you. _Exeunt._