Sir Pat. Was ever so profane a Wretch! What, you will not prove this neither?
Lean. Yes, by demonstration too.
Sir Pat. Why, thou saucy Varlet, Sirrah, Sirrah, thank my Lady here I do not cudgel thee.—Well, I will settle the rest of my Estate upon her to morrow, I will, Sir; and thank God you have what you have, Sir, make much on’t.
Lean. Pardon me, Sir, ’tis not my single Opinion, but the whole City takes notice on’t: that I tell it you, Sir, is the Effect of my Duty, not Interest. Pray give me leave to prove this to you, Sir.
Sir Pat. What, you are at your Demonstration again?—come—let’s hear.
Lean. Why, Sir, give her frequent opportunities,—and then surprize her;—or, by pretending to settle all upon her,—give her your Power, and see if she do not turn you out of Doors;—or—by feigning you are sick to death—or indeed by dying.
Sir Pat. I thank you, Sir,—this indeed is Demonstration, I take it. Pulls off his Hat.
Lean. I mean but feigning, Sir; and be a witness your self of her Sorrow, or Contempt.
Sir Pat. Pauses. Hah—hum,—why, ingenuously, this may be a very pretty Project.—Well, Sir, suppose I follow your advice?—nay, I profess I will do so, not to try her Faith, but to have the pleasure to hear her conjugal Lamentations, feel her Tears bedew my Face, and her sweet Mouth kissing my Cheeks a thousand times; verily a wonderful Comfort.—And then, Sir, what becomes of your Demonstration?—
Enter Wittmore with the Ring.