Nee. How spightful are you now, Sir Gregory!
Why look you, I can love my dearest Husband,
With all the honors, duties, sweet embraces,
That can be thrown upon a loving man.
Sir Gr.——This is afore your Uncles face, but behind his back, in private, you'll shew him another tale—
Cun. You see, Sir, now the irrecoverable state of all these things before you: come out of your muse, they have been but Wit-weapons, you were wont to love the Play.
Enter Clown.
Old K. Let me alone in my muse a little, Sir, I will wake to you anon.
Cun. U'd so, your friend Pompey, how will you answer him?
Nee. Very well, if you'll but second it, and help me.
Clow. I do hear strange stories, are Ladies things obnoxious?
Nee. Oh, the dissembling falsest wretch is come.