Fear. No matter, she’s rich.
Dar. Ay, that will make her insolent.
Fear. Nay, she’s generous too.
Dar. Yes, when she’s drunk, and then she’ll lavish all.
Ran. A pox on him, how he vexes me.
Dar. Then such a Tongue—she’ll rail and smoke till she choke again; then six Gallons of Punch hardly recovers her, and never but then is she good-natur’d.
Ran. I must lay him on—
Dar. There’s not a Blockhead in the Country that has not—
Ran. What—
Dar. Been drunk with her.