Mer. Why then for fear you shou’d, do ye see, draw, [Draws] Draw, I say, I am not so old but I can make a shift to cut your Throat still; I’le spoil your Carking, I’le warrant ye.
A Pox on’t, here’s my Son-in-Law come to hinder me, Duce take him cou’d he not stay a little longer? D’ye hear Sir, begon, leave this Place immediately, or I’le—I’le—I’le—Gad I cou’d find in my Heart, so I cou’d, but be gone.
Fri. Bonvile here with Clara too, excellent. This goes to Arabella, and may it encrease the Storm.
[Exit Frie.
Bon. My Father in Anger.
Mer. O Son, Son, Son! dear Boy, welcome home, Od’s bobs you are.
Bon. I humbly thank you, Sir; but am sorry to see you so disturb’d.
Mer. Nothing, nothing, only Mr. Friendly and I have had a Word or two, that’s all, that’s all.
Bon. About my going with him, I suppose; but that’s past, and I hope, Sir, you’l be so kind as at my Request to pardon him.
Mer. Indeed Son it was something else; By the Lord Harry I can’t forbear laughing at the Coxcomb, Ha, ha, ha; He told me, Ha, ha, ha, that one Summerfield, a very honest Fellow as ever liv’d, is grown exceeding familiar with my Daughter, your Wife.