Old K. You tell me things, Sir Gregory, that cannot be.
She will not, nor she dares not.
Sir Gr. Would I were whipt then.
Nee. I'll make as little shew of love, Sir Gregory,
As ever Woman did, you shall not know
You have my heart a good while.
Old K. Heard you that?
Nee. Man will insult so soon, 'tis his condition,
'Tis good to keep him off as long as we can,
I've much ado, I swear; and love i' th' end
Will have his course, let Maids do what they can,
They are but frail things till they end in man.
Old K. What say you to this, Sir?
Sir Gr. This is somewhat handsome.
Nee. And by that little wrangling that I fain'd,
Now I shall try how constant his love is,
Although't went sore against my heart to chide him.
Sir Gr. Alas poor Gentlewoman.
Old K. Now y'are sure of truth,
You hear her own thoughts speak.