Tyse. What’s that you whisper to her? 189
Caq. Nothing, sir; but satisfy her that the ring was not pawn’d, but only lent by you to grace my finger; and so told her I craved pardon for being too familiar, or indeed over-bold with your reputation.
Cri. Yes, indeed, he did. He said you desired to make him any satisfaction for an uncivil discourtesy you did him last night; but he said he had you o’ the hip, and would take the forfeit of your ring.
Tyse. How now, ye base poltroon.
Caq. Hold! hold! my mistress speaks by contraries.
Tyse. Contraries! 200
Caq. She jests—faith, only jests.
Cri. Sir, I’ll no more o’ your service—you are a child—I’ll give you to my nurse.
Put. And he come to me, I can tell you, as old as I am, what to do with him.
Caq. I offer my service, forsooth.