Cun. 'Tis well it came to my hands first, Sir Gregory,
I know where this must go.
Sir Greg. Am I discharg'd on't?
Cun. My life for yours now. [Draws.
Sir Greg. What now?
Cun. 'Tis discretion, Sir,
I'll stand upon my Guard all the while I ha't.
Sir Greg. 'Troth thou tak'st too much danger on thee still,
To preserve me alive.
Cun. 'Tis a friends duty, Sir,
Nay, by a toy that I have late thought upon,
I'll u[n]dertake to get your Mistriss for you.
Sir Greg. Thou wilt not? Wilt?
Cun. Contract her by a trick, Sir,
When she least thinks on't.
Sir Greg. There's the right way to't,
For if she think on't once, shee'l never do't.