Wild. Oh, no!
In love.
Con. Oh, true! You are in love! Go on!
Wild. Well, as I said, my suit’s a thriving one.
Con. You mean you are beloved again!—I don’t
Believe it.
Wild. I can give you proof.
Con. What proof?
Love letters? She’s a shameless maid
To write them! Can she spell? Ay, I suppose
With prompting of a dictionary!
Wild. Nay,
Without one.
Con. I will lay you ten to one
She cannot spell! How know you she can spell?
You cannot spell yourself! You write command
With a single M—C-O-M-A-N-D:
Yours to Co-mand.
Wild. I did not say she wrote
Love letters to me.
Con. Then she suffers you to press
Her hand, perhaps?