Old K. Must? are there musty Fidlers? are Beggars choosers now?
Ha! why Witty-pate, Son, where am I?
Witty. You were dancing e'en now, in good measure, Sir,
Is your health miscarried since? what ail you, Sir?
Old K. Death, I may be gull'd to my face, where's my Neece?
What are you?
L. Ru. None of your Neece, Sir.
Old K. How now? have you loud instruments too? I'll hear
No more, I thank you; what have I done to
To bring these fears about me? Son, where am I?
Witty. Not where you should be, Sir, you [should] be paying
For your Musick, and you are in a maze.
Old K. Oh, is't so, put up, put up, I pray you,
Here's a crown for you.
Ruin. Pris. Ha, ha, ha, a crown?
Old K. Which way do you laugh? I have seen a crown
Has made a Consort laugh heartily.