All with a breath, I thank him; but that I love a Wit
I should be heartily angry; cuds, my Neece,
You know the business with her.
Cun. With a Woman?
'Tis ev'n the very same it was I'm sure
Five thousand years ago, no fool can miss it.
Old K. This is the Gentleman I promis'd Neece,
To present to your affection.
Cun. ['W]are that Arrow.
Old K. Deliver me the truth now of your liking.
Cun. I'm spoil'd already, that such poor lean Game
Should be found out as I am.
Old K. Go set to her Sir—ha, ha, ha.
Cun. How noble is this virtue in you, Lady,
Your eye may seem to commit a thousand slaughters
On your dull servants which truly tasted
Conclude all in comforts.
Old K. Puh.
Neece. It rather shews what a true worth can make,
Such as yours is.