Guard. And I should play my part, or I were ingrateful.
Neece. Can you so soon neglect me!
Cun. Hence I'm busie.
Old K. This cross point came in luckily, impudent baggage.
Hang from the Gentleman, art thou not asham'd
To be a Widows hind'rance?
Cun. Are you angry, Sir?
Old K. You're welcome, pray court on, I shall desire
Your honest wise acquaintance; vex me not
After my care and pains to find a match for thee,
Lest I confine thy life to some out-chamber,
Where thou shalt waste the sweetness of thy youth,
Like a consuming Light in her own socket,
And not allow'd a male creature about thee;
A very Monky, thy necessity
Shall prize at a thousand pound, a Chimney sweeper
At Fifteen hundred.
Neece. But are you serious, Uncle?
Old K. Serious.
Neece. Pray let me look upon the Gentleman
With more heed; then I did but hum him over
In haste, good faith, as Lawyers Chancery sheets;
Beshrew my blood, a tollerable man,
Now I distinctly read him.
Sir Gr. Hum, hum, hum.