San. Not command you neither, not absolutely.
Dal. I go then—
San. Then I do command thee. I mean to stay a little longer. Thou hast fired my blood most horribly with that squeezing: hast not thou the itch? speak, damnation! I think I have got the infection of thee. [He shakes his hands.
Dal. I'll go and comfort my old father for the affronts you gave him.
San. No, perverseness; I'll make thee stay: in very spite of thy proud sex, I'll humble thee.
Dal. But was not you a grievous man to use him so? you shall tell me, or I break your fingers.
San. Not a word, to save thee from perdition; I am as dumb as a heathen oracle.
Dal. Then I must squeeze it out of you. [Pressing his hand again.
San. Ah, ha! it runs through me like wild-fire. [Panting.