Sir Ada. She did so, worke the match and Ile bestow—
Tuc. Not a silke point vpon mee, little Adam shee shall bee thy Eeue, for lesse then an Apple; but send, bee wise, send her some token, shee’s greedie, shee shall take it, doe, send, thou shalt sticke in her (Prickeshaft) but send.
Sir Adam. Heer’s a purse of golde, thinke you that wil be accepted?
Tuc. Goe to, it shall bee accepted, and twere but siluer, when that Flea-bitten Short-hose steppes hence: vanish too, and let mee alone with my Grannam in Gutter-Lane there, and this purse of golde doe, let me alone.
Sir quint. The King, gods Lord, I doe forget the King;
Widdow, thinke on my wordes, I must be gone
To waite his rising, Ile returne anone.
Sir Ad. Stay Sir Quintilian, Ile be a waiter too.
Sir quinti. Widdow wee’ll trust that Captaine there with you.
Exeunt.
Tuc. Now, now, mother Bunch how dost thou? what dost frowne Queene Gwyniuer? dost wrinckle? what made these paire of Shittle-cockes heere? what doe they fumble for? Ile ha none of these Kites fluttering about thy carkas, for thou shalt bee my West Indyes, and none but trim Tucca shall discouer thee.
Min. Discouer me? discouer what thou canst of me.