Violet.
I insist upon all. I do mistrust—for I’m no trusting miss—that thou art a poor ignoble man withal, hired by my jesting uncle withal to put on this chivalrous disguise withal to jest with me withal. What false knight art thou that thou wilt not endow the lady of thy love with all thou dost possess, that lovest thy goods better than love? Thou art of crude metal. Go to thy farm on Pearl Creek; I do not want thy goods.
Whetstone.
Fopdoodle [from his concealment].
Oh for a carmine dagger to hack, to stab, to prostrate him! Oh, how I crave to be a noble husband. O dazzling Violet!
Violet.
Thou hast kept from thy catalogue and basely concealed that which loving knights and ladies prize the highest.
Whetstone.
What can it be? I’ll buy it.