Inkle. I dare not listen. You, sir, I hope, will take good care of her. [Going.]
Sir Chr. Care of her!—that I will—I'll cherish her like my own daughter; and pour balm into the heart of a poor, innocent girl, that has been wounded by the artifices of a scoundrel.
Inkle. Hah! 'Sdeath, sir, how dare you!—
Sir Chr. 'Sdeath, sir, how dare you look an honest man in the face?
Inkle. Sir, you shall feel—
Sir Chr. Feel!—It's more than ever you did, I believe. Mean, sordid wretch! dead to all sense of honour, gratitude, or humanity—I never heard of such barbarity! I have a son-in-law, who has been left in the same situation; but, if I thought him capable of such cruelty, dam'me if I would not turn him to sea, with a peck-loaf, in a cockle shell—Come, come, cheer up, my girl! You shan't want a friend to protect you, I warrant you.—[Taking Yarico by the hand.]
Inkle. Insolence! The Governor shall hear of this insult.
Sir Chr. The Governor! liar! cheat! rogue! impostor! breaking all ties you ought to keep, and pretending to those you have no right to. The Governor never had such a fellow in the whole catalogue of his acquaintance—the Governor disowns you—the Governor disclaims you—the Governor abhors you; and to your utter confusion, here stands the Governor to tell you so. Here stands old Curry, who never talked to a rogue without telling him what he thought of him.
Inkle. Sir Christopher!—Lost and undone!
Med. [Without.] Holo! Young Multiplication! Zounds! I have been peeping in every cranny of the house. Why, young Rule of Three! [Enters from the inn.] Oh, here you are at last—Ah, Sir Christopher! What are you there! too impatient to wait at home. But here's one that will make you easy, I fancy. [Clapping Inkle on the shoulder.]