Limb. Disloyal Pug!
Trick. What humour is this? you are drunk, it seems: Go sleep.
Limb. Thou hast robbed me of my repose for ever: I am like Macbeth, after the death of good king Duncan; methinks a voice says to me,—Sleep no more; Tricksy has murdered sleep.
Trick. Now I find it: You are willing to save your settlement, and are sent by some of your wise counsellors, to pick a quarrel with me.
Limb. I have been your cully above these seven years; but, at last, my eyes are opened to your witchcraft; and indulgent heaven has taken care 087 of my preservation. In short, madam, I have found you out; and, to cut off preambles, produce your adulterer.
Trick. If I have any, you know him best: You are the only ruin of my reputation. But if I have dishonoured my family, for the love of you, methinks you should be the last man to upbraid me with it.
Limb. I am sure you are of the family of your abominable great grandam Eve; but produce the man, or, by my father's soul—
Trick. Still I am in the dark.
Limb. Yes, you have been in the dark; I know it: But I shall bring you to light immediately.
Trick. You are not jealous?