Gripe. Ah, you wicked jade! Ah, you wicked jade!
Clar. Do you hear him Flippanta! do you hear him!
Flip. Pray, Sir, let's know a little what puts you in all this fury?
Clar. Pr'ythee stand near me, Flippanta, there's an odd froth about his mouth, looks as if his poor head were going wrong, I'm afraid he'll bite.
Gripe. The wicked woman, Flippanta, the wicked woman.
Clar. Can any body wonder I shun my own house, when he treats me at this rate in it?
Gripe. At this rate! why in the devil's name——
Clar. Do you hear him again?
Flip. Come, a little moderation, Sir, and try what that will produce.
Gripe. Hang her, 'tis all a pretence to justify her going abroad.