Pereg. Now, Sir Simon, as accident seems to have thwarted a design, which probity could never applaud, you may, perhaps, be inclined to do justice here.
Job. Justice is all I come for—damn their favours! Cheer up, Mary!
Sir Simon. [To Pereg.] I was in hopes I had got rid of you. You are an orator from the sea-shore; but you must put more pebbles in your mouth before you harangue me into a tea-kettle connexion.
Shuff. That's my friend at the Red Cow. He is the new-old cher ami to honest tea-kettle's daughter.
Frank. Your insinuation is false, sir.
Shuff. False!
[Stepping forward.
Lady Car. Hush! don't quarrel;—we are only married to-day.
Shuff. That's true; I won't do any thing to make you unhappy for these three weeks.
Pereg. Sir Simon Rochdale, if my oratory fail, and which, indeed, is weak, may interest prevail with you?