Sir Tim. Not yet end! Can I, Madam, give you a greater Proof of my
Passion for you, than to endure this for your sake?
Nur. This—thou art so sorry a Creature, thou wilt endure any thing for the lucre of her Fortune; ‘tis that thou hast a Passion for: not that thou carest for Money, but to sacrifice to thy Leudness, to purchase a Mistress, to purchase the Reputation of as errant a Fool as ever arriv’d at the Honour of keeping; to purchase a little Grandeur, as you call it; that is, to make every one look at thee, and consider what a Fool thou art, who else might pass unregarded amongst the common Croud.
Sir Tim. The Devil’s in her Tongue, and so ‘tis in most Women’s of her
Age; for when it has quitted the Tail, it repairs to her upper Tire.
Nur. Do not persuade me, Madam, I am resolv’d to make him weary of his Wooing.
Sir Tim. So, God be prais’d, the Storm is laid—And now, Mrs. Celinda, give me leave to ask you, if it be with your leave, this Affront is put on a Man of my Quality?
Nur. Thy Quality—
Sir Tim. Yes; I am a Gentleman, and a Knight.
Nur. Yes, Sir, Knight of the ill-favour’d Countenance is it?
Sir Tim. You are beholding to Don Quixot for that, and ‘tis so many Ages since thou couldst see to read, I wonder thou hast not forgot all that ever belong’d to Books.
Nur. My Eye-sight is good enough to see thee in all thy Colours, thou Knight of the burning Pestle thou.