Camp. That's my name, indeed, Sir Christopher.
Sir Chr. The devil it is! And how came you, sir, to impose upon me, and assume the name of Inkle? A name which every man of honesty ought to be ashamed of.
Camp. I never did, sir.—Since I sailed from England with your daughter, my affection has daily increased: and when I came to explain myself to you, by a number of concurring circumstances, which I am now partly acquainted with, you mistook me for that gentleman. Yet had I even then been aware of your mistake, I must confess, the regard for my own happiness would have tempted me to let you remain undeceived.
Sir Chr. And did you, Narcissa, join in—
Nar. How could I, my dear sir, disobey you?
Patty. Lord your honour, what young lady could refuse a captain?
Camp. I am a soldier, Sir Christopher. Love and war is the soldier's motto; though my income is trifling to your intended son-in-law's, still the chance of war has enabled me to support the object of my love above indigence. Her fortune, Sir Christopher, I do not consider myself by any means entitled to.
Sir Chr. 'Sblood! but you must though. Give me your hand, my young Mars, and bless you both together!—Thank you, thank you for cheating an old fellow into giving his daughter to a lad of spirit, when he was going to throw her away upon one, in whose breast the mean passion of avarice smothers the smallest spark of affection or humanity.
Nar. I have this moment heard a story of a transaction in the forest, which I own would have rendered compliance with your former commands very disagreeable.
Patty. Yes, sir, I told my mistress he had brought over a Hottypot gentlewoman.