ABSOLUTE
Nothing, sir—nothing.
Sir ANTHONY
What's this?—here's something damned hard.
ABSOLUTE
Oh, trinkets, sir! trinkets!—a bauble for Lydia!
Sir ANTHONY
Nay, let me see your taste.—[Pulls his coat open, the sword falls.]
Trinkets!—a bauble for Lydia!—Zounds! sirrah, you are not going to
cut her throat, are you?
ABSOLUTE Ha! ha! ha!—I thought it would divert you, sir, though I didn't mean to tell you till afterwards.
Sir ANTHONY
You didn't?—Yes, this is a very diverting trinket, truly!
ABSOLUTE Sir, I'll explain to you.—You know, sir, Lydia is romantic, devilish romantic, and very absurd of course: now, sir, I intend, if she refuses to forgive me, to unsheath this sword, and swear—I'll fall upon its point, and expire at her feet!
Sir ANTHONY Fall upon a fiddlestick's end!—why, I suppose it is the very thing that would please her.—Get along, you fool!
ABSOLUTE
Well, sir, you shall hear of my success—you shall hear.—O
Lydia!—forgive me, or this pointed steel—says I.
Sir ANTHONY O, booby! stay away and welcome—says she.—Get along! and damn your trinkets!