Tut. O sweet Sir.
Con. Do you think I would,
Such noted men as you?
Onos, Unc. Tut. We are your Servants. [Exeunt.
Euph. That thing they would keep in everlasting nonage,
My brother for his own ends has thrust on
Upon my Mistriss, 'tis true, he shall be rich
If ever he can get that Rogue his Unkle
To let him be of years to come to inherit it,
Now what the main drift is—
Con. Say ye so? no more words,
I'll keep him company till he be of years,
Though it be a hundred years, but I'll discover it;
And ten to one I'll cross it too.
Euph. You are honest,
And I shall study still your love: farewell Sir,
For these few hours I must desire your pardon,
I have business of importance: once a day
At least I hope you'll see me: I must see you else:
So, once more ye are welcome.
Con. All my thanks Sir,
And when I leave to love you, life go from me. [Exeu[n]t.
Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima.
Enter Theanor and Crates.