Cun. Not a whit i'faith, Bird, betwixt you and I,
I am beholding for bettering of my knowledg.
Guard. Nay, you shall know more of me, if you'll be rul'd
But make not things common.
Cun. Ud' so, your Lady?
Guard. I, 'tis no matter, she'll like well of this,
Our familiarity is her content.
Enter Neece and Clown.
Nee. This present from Sir Greg[o]ry?
Clow. From my Master, the Worshipful, right Sir Greg[o]ry Fop.
Nee. A Ruffe? and what might be his high conceit
In sending of a Ruff?
Clow. I think he had two conceits in it forsooth, too high too Low, Ruff high, because as the Ruff does embrace your neck all day, so does he desire to throw his Knightly Arms.