MILLISCENT.
O God, what means my father?

CLARE.
For look you, wife, the riotous old knight
Hath o'rerun his annual revenue
In keeping jolly Christmas all the year:
The nostrils of his chimney are still stuft
With smoke, more chargeable then Cane-tobacco;
His hawks devour his fattest dogs, whilst simple,
His leanest curs eat him hounds carrion.
Besides, I heard of late, his younger brother,
A Turkey merchant, hath sure suck'de the knight
By means of some great losses on the sea,
That, you conceive me, before God all is naught,
His seat is weak: thus, each thing rightly scanned,
You'll se a flight, wife, shortly of his land.

MILLISCENT.
Treason to my hearts truest sovereign:
How soon is love smothered in foggy gain!

DORCAS.
But how shall we prevent this dangerous match?

CLARE.
I have a plot, a trick, and this is it-
Under this colour I'll break off the match:
I'll tell the knight that now my mind is changd