Witty. Why Sir, here's witness against you, you have danc'd,
And he that dances, acknowledges a receipt of Musick.
Old K. I denie that, Sir, look you, I can dance without
Musick, do you see, Sir? and I can sing without it too; you
are a Consort of Thieves, do you hear what I do?
Witty. Pray you take heed, Sir, if you do move the
Musick agen, it may cost you as much more.
Old K. Hold, hold, I'll depart quietly, I need not bid you
farewel, I think now, so long as that hundred [pound] lasts
with you.
Enter Guardianess.
Ha, ha, am I snapt i'faith?
Guar. Oh, Sir, Perfidious.
Old K. I, I, some howling another while, Musick's too
damnable dear.
Guard. Oh Sir, my heart-strings are broke, if I can but live
to tell you the tale, I care not, your Neece my charge is—
Old K. What, is she sick?