Novel. Prithee, prithee, be not impertinent, my lord; some of you lords are such conceited, well assured impertinent rogues.
Plausible. And you noble wits are so full of shamming and drollery, one knows not where to have you seriously.
Nov. Prithee, my lord, be not an ass. Dost thou think to get her from me? I have had such encouragements—
Plau. I have not been thought unworthy of 'em.
Nov. What? not like mine! Come to an éclaircissement, as I said.
Plau. Why, seriously then; she told me Viscountess sounded prettily.
Nov. And me, that Novel was a name she would sooner change hers for, than any title in England.
Plau. She has commended the softness and respectfulness of my behaviour.
Nov. She has praised the briskness of my raillery in all things, man.
Plau. The sleepiness of my eyes she liked.