ARABEL. Sir, when I tell you that I am every moment expecting an arrival——
TRIPTOLE. A rival?
ARABEL. An arrival.
TRIPTOLE. Ann who?
ARABEL. Pshaw!
TRIPTOLE. I don’t know her.
CAPT. H. (without, in a loud voice) Don’t tell me! I know she’s aloft; so clear the gangway, you lubber!
| TRIPTOLE. ARABEL. | } | (together) That voice! |
TRIPTOLE. It’s he! my vampire! my brawny ruffian!