nd?

LAET. [_Aside_.] I'm amazed. Sure he has discovered nothing. Who has
wronged me to my dearest? I hope my jewel does not think that ever I had
any such thing in my head, or ever will have.

FOND. No, no, I tell you I shall have it in my head--

LAET. [_Aside_.] I know not what to think. But I'm resolved to find
the meaning of it. Unkind dear! Was it for this you sent to call me? Is
it not affliction enough that you are to leave me, but you must study to
increase it by unjust suspicions? [_Crying_.] Well--well--you know my
fondness, and you love to tyrannise--Go on, cruel man, do: triumph over
my poor heart while it holds, which cannot be long, with this usage of
yours. But that's what you want. Well, you will have your ends soon.
You will--you will. Yes, it will break to oblige you. [_Sighs_.]

FOND. Verily, I fear I have carried the jest too far. Nay, look you now
if she does not weep--'tis the fondest fool. Nay, Cocky, Cocky, nay,
dear Cocky, don't cry, I was but in jest, I was not, ifeck.

LAET. [_Aside_.] Oh then, all's safe. I was terribly frighted. My
affliction is always your jest, barbarous man! Oh, that I should love to
this degree! Yet--

FOND. Nay, Cocky.

LAET. No, no, you are weary of me, that's it--that's all, you would get
another wife--another fond fool, to break her heart--Well, be as cruel as
you can to me, I'll pray for you; and when I am dead with grief, may you
have one that will love you as well as I have done: I shall be contented
to lie at peace in my cold grave--since it will please you. [_Sighs_.]

FOND. Good lack, good lack, she would melt a heart of oak--I profess I
can hold no longer. Nay, dear Cocky--ifeck, you'll break my heart--ifeck
you will. See, you have made me weep--made poor Nykin weep. Nay, come
kiss, buss poor Nykin--and I won't leave thee--I'll lose all first.

LAET. [_Aside_.] How! Heaven forbid! that will be carrying the jest
too far indeed.

FOND. Won't you kiss Nykin?

LAET. Go, naughty Nykin, you don't love me.

FOND. Kiss, kiss, ifeck, I do.

LAET. No, you don't. [_She kisses him_.]

FOND. What, not love Cocky!

LAET. No-h. [_Sighs_.]

FOND. I profess I do love thee better than five hundred pound--and so
thou shalt say, for I'll leave it to stay with thee.

LAET. No you sha'n't neglect your business for me. No, indeed, you
sha'n't, Nykin. If you don't go, I'll think you been dealous of me
still.

FO