Love. Very fine!—No, madam, your gallant, your spark last night; your fine dancer, entertainer, shall take you. He that was your swain; and you, I warrant, a fantastic nymph of the flood or forest. Ha! ha! ha! To be out all night with a young fellow! Oh! that makes you change your countenance, does it so? Fine lady—you wonder how I came to know. Why, choose a discreeter the next time—he told me all himself. Swoon—die for shame at hearing of these words—do!
Pen. I am, indeed, downright ashamed for him that speaks 'em. Whence this insolence, if not from utter distraction, under this roof?
Love. Oh, the ingrate! Have not I, madam, two long years, two ages, with humblest resignation, depended on your smile? and shall I suffer one of yesterday's to treat you, to dance all night with you?
Pen.[57] Speak softly; my father's coming down.
Love. Thy father's coming down! Faithless! Thou hast no father—But to cross me by night upon the water!
Pen. Well, by night upon the water; what then?
Love. Yes, all night.
Pen. What of that?
Love. Without blushing when you hear of 't!
Pen. Blush for what? What do you drive at?