Med. But at present you are all and all with him; he has been telling me his intentions these six weeks; you'll be a fine warm husband, I promise you.
Inkle. This cursed connexion! [Aside.]
Med. It is not for me, though, to tell you how to play your cards; you are a prudent young man, and can make calculations in a wood.
Inkle. Fool! fool! fool! [Aside.]
Med. Why, what the devil is the matter with you?
Inkle. It must be done effectually, or all is lost; mere parting would not conceal it. [Aside.]
Med. Ah! now he's got to his damn'd square root again, I suppose, and Old Nick would not move him.—Why, nephew!
Inkle. The planter that I spoke with cannot be arrived—but time is precious—the first I meet—common prudence now demands it. I'm fixed, I'll part with her. [Aside.]
[Exit.