Clar. A pretence! a pretence! Do you hear how black a charge he loads me with? Charges me with a pretence? Is this the return for all my downright open actions? You know, my dear, I scorn pretences: Whenever I go abroad, it is without pretence.
Gripe. Give me patience.
Flip. You have a great deal, Sir.
Clar. And yet he's never content, Flippanta.
Gripe. What shall I do?
Clar. What a reasonable man wou'd do; own your self in the wrong, and be quiet. Here's Flippanta has understanding, and I have moderation; I'm willing to make her judge of our differences.
Flip. You do me a great deal of honour, Madam: but I tell you beforehand, I shall be a little on Master's side.
Gripe. Right, Flippanta has sense. Come, let her decide. Have I not reason to be in a passion? tell me that.
Clar. You must tell her for what, my life.