Sir Greg. Where are those gad-flies going? to some Junket now;
That some old bumble-bee toles the young one forth
To sweet meats after kind, let 'em look to't,
The thing you wot on be not mist or gone,
I bring a Maiden-head, and I look for one.
Which is only a Puppet so drest. [Exit.
Enter Cunningame (in discourse with a Mask't Gentlewoman in a broad hat, and scarf'd,) Neece at another door.
Cun. Yes, yes.
Neece. Too manifest now, the Scarfe and all.
Cun. It cannot be, you're such a fearful soul.
Neece. I'll give her cause of fear e'er I part from her.
Cun. Will you say so? Is't not your Aunts desire too?
Neece. What a dissembling croane's that! she'l forswear't now.
Cun. I see my project takes, yonder's the grace on't.