Flip. Ah, now I begin to understand you.
Mon. Flippanta—there's my purse.
Flip. Say no more; now you explain, indeed——You are in love?
Mon. Bitterly—and I do swear by all the Gods——
Flip. Hold——Spare 'em for another time, you stand in no need of 'em now. A usurer that parts with his purse, gives sufficient proof of his sincerity.
Mon. I hate my wife, Flippanta.
Flip. That we'll take upon your bare word.
Mon. She's the devil, Flippanta.
Flip. You like your neighbour's better.
Mon. Oh!—--an angel.