Rose. I have heard, madam, your greatest wits have ever a touch of madness and extravagance in them, so perhaps has he.
Warn. There's nothing more distant than wit and folly; yet, like east and west, they may meet in a point, and produce actions that are but a hair's breadth from one another.
Rose. I'll undertake he has wit enough to make one laugh at him a whole day together: He's a most comical person.
Mill. For all this, I will not swear he is no fool; he has still discovered all your plots.
Warn. O, madam, that's the common fate of your Machiavelians; they draw their designs so subtle, that their very fineness breaks them.
Mill. However, I'm resolved to be on the sure side: I will have certain proof of his wit, before I marry him.
Warn. Madam, I'll give you one; he wears his clothes like a great sloven, and that's a sure sign of wit; he neglects his outward parts; besides, he speaks French, sings, dances, plays upon the lute.
Mill. Does he do all this, say you?
Warn. Most divinely, madam.
Mill. I ask no more; then let him give me a serenade immediately; but let him stand in view, I'll not be cheated.