Neece. Would you could perswade me to that;
Alass, you cannot go beyond me Uncle,
You carry a Jest well, I must confess,
For a man of your years, but—
Old K. I'm wrought beside my self.
Cun. I never beheld comliness till this minute.
Guar. Oh good sweet Sir, pray offer not these words
To an old Gentlewoman.
Neece. Sir.
Cun. Away fifteen,
Here's Fifty one exceeds thee.
Cun. Give me these motherly creatures, come, ne'er smother it,
I know you are a teeming woman yet.
Guard. Troth a young Gent. might do much I think, Sir.
Cun. Go too then.