Cun. She does abuse you still then?
Sir Greg. A——damnably,
Every time worse than other; yet her Uncle
Thinks the day holds a Tuesday; say it did, Sir,
She's so familiarly us'd to call me Rascal,
She'll quite forget to wed me by my own name,
And then that Marriage cannot hold in Law, you know.
Cun. Will you leave all to me?
Sir Greg. Who should I leave it to?
Cun. 'Tis our luck to love Neeces; I love a Neece too.
Sir Greg. I would you did y'faith.
Cun. But mine's a kind wretch.
Sir Greg. I marry Sir, I would mine were so too.
Cun. No rascal comes in her mouth.
Sir Greg. Troth, and mine has little else in hers.