Dingle (Drawing sword).—Retract, sir! Eat your words! (Flourishes sword) Feast upon them! Swallow them!
Weatherspout.—Gentlemen, hear him! His tongue would madden an auctioneer with envy.
Dingle.—Ha! more insults! Hold me back! (Makes a pass at Weatherspout.) Let me dissect him!
[Squire and Leslie take hold of Dingle.]
Squire.—Remember where you are!
Leslie.—Do nothing rash, sir!
Weatherspout.—Release him; I fear his jargon, not his blade; let me explain, and if he then insists on satisfaction, I will thrash him with my staff.
Dingle.—My honor! (Flourishes his sword) must I submit to this!
Squire.—Let the monk speak.
Weatherspout.—While standing on the porch enjoying the cool breeze, my companion, a lady, playfully called me Dingle. I replied that the air was filled with Dingles, whereupon this fellow sprang from behind a bush, and would have throttled me, had I not sneezed in his face.