Alon. Nay, ’tis the public street, you know.
Torr. What, my cousins’ street?
Alon. To be sure.
Torr. I’ll not suffer any one I don’t like to hang about it, however, and least of all these perfumery puppies.
Alon. But if they happen to live here, nephew?
Torr. Don’t let ’em live here, then.
Alon. But if they own houses?
Torr. They mustn’t own houses, then.
Fel. Don Alonso, permit me to kiss your hand on your arrival among us. I ought indeed first to have waited upon you in your own house; but this happy chance makes me anticipate etiquette.
Torr. Coxcomb!