Kit. What? are you looking for your consort? Whistle, I’m your dog; I’ll come to you. I’ve been toasting you fathom deep, my beauty; and with every glass I love you dearer.
Arethusa. Now, Kit, if you want to please my father, this is not the way. Perhaps he thinks too much of the guineas: well, gather them—if you think me worth the price. Go you to your sloop, clinker built, eighty tons burthen—you see I remember. Skipper Kit! I don’t deny I like a man of spirit; but if you care to please Captain Gaunt, keep out of taverns; and if you could carry yourself a bit more—more elderly!
Kit. Can I? Would I? Ah, just couldn’t and just won’t I, then!
Mrs. Drake. I hope, madam, you don’t refer to my house; a publican I may be, but tavern is a word that I don’t hold with; and here there’s no bad drink, and no loose company; and as for my blessedest Kit, I declare I love him like my own.
Arethusa. Why, who could help it, Mrs. Drake?
Kit. Arethusa, you’re an angel. Do I want to please Captain Gaunt? Why, that’s as much as ask whether I love you. (I don’t deny that his words cut me; for they did. But as for wanting to please him, if he was deep as the blue Atlantic, I would beat it out. And elderly, too? Aha, you witch, you’re wise! Elderly? You’ve set the course; you leave me alone to steer it. Matrimony’s my port, and love is my cargo.) That’s a likely question, ain’t it, Mrs. Drake? Do I want to please him! Elderly, says you? Why, see here: Fill up my glass, and I’ll drink to Arethusa on my knees.
Arethusa. Why, you stupid boy, do you think that would please him?
Kit. On my knees I’ll drink it! (As he kneels and drains the glass, Gaunt enters, and he scrambles to his feet.)
SCENE IV
To these, Gaunt