Whose gold, good uncle?
Thou speakest strangely.
Northlake.
I did but jest a trifle.
Violet.
Give me thy arm, good uncle. I’ll tease thee.
[Taking his arm.
I do mistrust thou’dst sell me in this costume;
For Ninon, chatting as we dressed, and humoring
Me, did say that often thus they sell
Circassian maids unto the Turk.
Northlake.
Nay, ’tis but idle prattle in Ninon.
Violet.