Winw. Ay, master Quarlous, are you proffering! [Aside.
Grace. You’d bring but little aid, sir.
Winw. I’ll look to you, in faith, gamester. [Aside.]—An unfortunate foolish tribe you are fallen into, lady, I wonder you can endure them.
Grace. Sir, they that cannot work their fetters off must wear them.
Winw. You see what care they have on you, to leave you thus.
Grace. Faith, the same they have of themselves, sir. I cannot greatly complain, if this were all the plea I had against them.
Winw. ’Tis true: but will you please to withdraw with us a little, and make them think they have lost you. I hope our manners have been such hitherto, and our language, as will give you no cause to doubt yourself in our company.
Grace. Sir, I will give myself no cause; I am so secure of mine own manners, as I suspect not yours.
Quar. Look where John Littlewit comes.
Winw. Away, I’ll not be seen by him.