Love. Three kisses, your faith and hand.
Pen. Nothing else? Will you be so contented?
Love. I'll expect higher terms if you accept not these—Quickly, then.
Pen. Well, then—no, my father's coming. Ha! ha! ha!
Love. Laugh at my sufferings! slight my anger!
Is this your base requital of my love?—
Revenge, revenge! I'll print on thy favourite in his heart's blood my revenge. Our swords—our swords shall dispute our pretences, rather than he enjoy what my long services entitle me to, which is to do myself right for what he intends an injury; though perhaps what we shall dispute for is better lost.
Pert. Mr. Lovemore, you have taken very great liberties. You say I have injured you in my regard to another. Is your opinion, then, of what you say you will dispute for, such as you just now said—better lost?
Love. Look you, madam—so—therefore—as to that—this is such—for that it—You don't consider what you said to me.
Pen. Ha! ha! ha!
Love. You shall by all that's—you shall repent this. [Flings out.
Pen. This is all we have for 't, a little dominion beforehand. These are the creatures that are born to rule us; who creep, who flatter, and servilely beseech our favour; which obtained, they grow sullen, proud, and insolent; pry into the gift, the manner of bestowing, with all the little arts the ungrateful use to hide, or kill their sense and conscience of a benefit.