Blood. And I pray let's hear it, sir.
Sim. You, a new-fangled fowler, came to show your art i' th' dark; but take this truth, you catched in truth a cuckoo for't.
Enter Tim and Sue.
Blood. Heyday, we are cheated by the rule, i' faith. Now, sirrah, they say you are to be married too.
Tim. Yes, indeed, father, I am going to the business; and, gentlemen all, I am come, whether you will or no, to invite you all to my marriage to this gentlewoman who, though a good face needs no mask, she's masked, to make a man think she has a scurvy face, when I know she has a good face. This is sack to them, and out of their element.
Blood. But, sirrah, setting aside marriages, where's my hundred marks you went to receive?
Tim. Hum!—upon such a match of mine, talk of a hundred marks! this is to drink ignoble four-shillings beer. A hundred marks! why your lawyer there can clear such a trifle in a term, and his clients ne'er the better.
Blood. Such a match! I pray discover her; what is she?
Tim. What is she! here's my brother knows what she is well enough. Come hither, Dab, and be it known unto you, her name is Lindabrides, descended from the Emperor Trebatio of Greece, and half-niece, some six-and-fifty descents, to the most unvanquished Clarindiana.