King. Hee is a kinde Gentleman, Ladie, though hee bee blunt, and is of this humour, the more you presume upon him without Ceremonie, the more he loves you; if he know you thinke him kinde once, and will say nothing but still use him, you may melt him into any kindnesse you will; he is right like a woman, and had rather, you shood bluntlie take the greatest favour you can of him, then shamefastly intreat it.
Eug. He saies well to you Hippolita.
Hip. I, Madam, but they saie, he will beat one in jest, and byte in kindenesse, and teare ones ruffes in Courtshippe.
King. Some that he makes sport withall perhappes, but none that he respects, I assure ye.
Hip. And what's his living sir Cutbeard?
King. Some two thousand a yeere, Ladie.
Hip. I pray doe not tell him that I ask't, for I stand not upon living.
King. O good Ladie, who can live without living?
Enter Momford.
Mom. Still heere, Lordings? good companions yfaith; I see you come not for vittles.