Toi. What! Sir, you have formed such a queer project as that, and, with all the wealth you possess, you want to marry your daughter to a doctor?
Arg. What business is it of yours, you impudent jade?
Toi. Gently, gently. You always begin by abuse. Can we not reason together without getting into a rage? Come, let us speak quietly. What reason have you, if you please, for such a marriage?
Arg. My reason is, that seeing myself infirm and sick, I wish to have a son-in-law and relatives who are doctors, in order to secure their kind assistance in my illness, to have in my family the fountain-head of those remedies which are necessary to me, and to be within reach of consultations and prescriptions.
Toi. Very well; at least that is giving a reason, and there is a certain pleasure in answering one another calmly. But now, Sir, on your conscience, do you really and truly believe that you are ill?
Arg. Believe that I am ill, you jade? Believe that I am ill, you impudent hussy?
Toi. Very well, then, Sir, you are ill; don’t let us quarrel about that. Yes, you are very ill, I agree with you upon that point, more ill even than you think. Now, is that settled? But your daughter is to marry a husband for herself, and as she is not ill, what is the use of giving her a doctor?
Arg. It is for my sake that I give her this doctor, and a good daughter ought to be delighted to marry for the sake of her father’s health.
Toi. In good troth, Sir, shall I, as a friend, give you a piece of advice?
Arg. What is this advice?