Mood. O you young coxcomb, to be drawn in thus!
Sir John. You old Scot you, to be caught so sillily!
Mood. Come but an inch nearer, and I'll so claw thee.
Sir John. I hope I shall reach to thee.
Mood. An 'twere not for thy wooden breast-work there——
Sir John. I hope to push thee down from Babylon.
Enter Lord, Lady Dupe, Sir Martin, Warner, Rose, Millisent veiled, and Landlord.
Lord. How, gentlemen! what, quarrelling among yourselves!
Mood. Cox-nowns! help me down, and let me have fair play; he shall never marry my daughter.
Sir Mart. [Leading Rose.] No, I'll be sworn that he shall not; therefore never repine, sir, for marriages, you know, are made in heaven; in fine, sir, we are joined together in spite of fortune.