Sir John. Pr'ythee leave off thy choler, and hear me a little: I have had a great mind to thee a long time; if thou thinkest my service better than his, from this minute I entertain thee.
Warn. With all my heart, sir; and so much the rather, that I might spite him with it. This was the most propitious fate—
Mood. Propitious! and fate! what a damned scanderbag rogue art thou, to talk at this rate? Hark you, sirrah, one word more of this gibberish, and I'll set you packing from your new service: I'll have neither propitious nor fate come within my doors.
Sir John. Nay, pray, father—
Warn. Good old sir, be pacified; I was pouring out a little of the dregs that I had left in me of my former service, and now they are gone, my stomach's clear of them.
Sir John. This fellow is come in a happy hour; for now, sir, you and I may go to prepare the licence, and, in the mean time, he may have an eye upon your daughter.
Warn. If you please I'll wait upon her till she's ready, and then bring her to what church you shall appoint.
Mood. But, friend, you'll find she'll hang an arse, and be very loath to come along with you, and therefore I had best stay behind and bring her myself.
Warn. I warrant you I have a trick for that, sir: She knows nothing of my being turned away; so I'll come to her as from Sir Martin, and, under pretence of carrying her to him, conduct her to you.
Sir John. My better angel—