Sir Chr. Oh, as well as I do my own. But let's understand one another. You may trust me, now you've gone so far. You are acquainted with his character, no doubt, to a hair?
Inkle. I am—I see we shall understand each other. You know him too, I see, as well as I.—A very touchy, testy, hot old fellow.
Sir Chr. Here's a scoundrel! I hot and touchy! Zounds! I can hardly contain my passion!—But I won't discover myself. I'll see the bottom of this——[To him.] Well now, as we seem to have come to a tolerable explanation—let's proceed to business—Bring me the woman.
Inkle. No; there you must excuse me. I rather would avoid seeing her more; and wish it to be settled without my seeming interference. My presence might distress her—You conceive me?
Sir Chr. Zounds! what an unfeeling rascal!—The poor girl's in love with him, I suppose. No, no, fair and open. My dealing is with you and you only: I see her now, or I declare off.
Inkle. Well then, you must be satisfied: yonder's my servant—ha—a thought has struck me. Come here, sir.
Enter Trudge.
I'll write my purpose, and send it her by him—It's lucky that I taught her to decypher characters; my labour now is paid. [Takes out his pocket book, and writes.]—This is somewhat less abrupt; 'twill soften matters. [To himself.] Give this to Yarico; then bring her hither with you.
Trudge. I shall, sir. [Going.]
Inkle. Stay; come back. This soft fool, if uninstructed, may add to her distress. When she has read this paper, seem to make light of it; tell her it is a thing of course, done purely for her good. I here inform her that I must part with her. D'ye understand your lesson?