Sir Cred. Zoz, Lodwick, what do you mean? I’m the Son of an Egyptian if I understand thee. Pulls him, he signs to him to hold his peace.
Lod. Come, Sir, the Tokens, produce, produce— He falls back making damnable signs.
How! Faith, I’m sorry for that with all my heart,—he says, being somewhat put to’t on his Journey, he was forced to pawn the Bracelets for half a Crown, and the Handkerchief he gave his Landlady on the Road for a Kindness received,—this ’tis when People will be fooling—
Sir Cred. Why, the Devil’s in this Lodwick, for mistaking my Signs thus: hang me if ever I thought of Bracelets or a Handkerchief, or ever received a Civility from any Woman Breathing,—is he bewitcht trow? Aside.
Lean. Lodwick, you are mistaken in the Knight’s meaning all this while. Look on him, Sir,—do not you guess from that Look, and wrying of his Mouth, that you mistook the Bracelets for Diamond Rings, which he humbly begs, Madam, you would grace with your fair Hand?
Lod. Ah, now I perceive it plain.
Sir Cred. A Pox of his Compliment. Why, this is worse than t’other.—What shall I do in this case?—should I speak and undeceive them, they would swear ’twere to save my Jems: and to part with ’em—Zoz, how simply should I look!—but hang’t, when I have married her, they are my own again. Gives the Rings, and falls back into Grimaces. Leander whispers to Lodwick.
Lod. Enough—Then, Sister, she has sent you a Purse of her own knitting full of Broad Gold.
Sir. Cred. Broad Gold! why, what a Pox does the Man conjure?
Lod. Which, Sister, faith, you must accept of, you see by that Grimace how much ’twill grieve him else.