Niece. I hate thee.
Hump. I wish you did—There's no hate lost, I assure you, cousin Bridget.
Niece. Cousin Bridget, quoth'a! I'd as soon claim kindred with a mountain bear—I detest thee.
Hump. You never do any harm in these fits, I hope.—But do you hate me in earnest?
Niece. Dost thou ask it, ungentle forester?
Hump. Yes; for I've a reason, look ye. It happens very well if you hate me and are in your senses, for, to tell you truly, I don't much care for you; and there is another fine woman, as I am informed, that is in some hopes of having me.
Niece. This merits my attention. [Aside.
Hump. Look ye, d'ye see—as I said, since I don't care for you, I would not have you set your heart on me; but if you like anybody else let me know it, and I'll find out a way for us to get rid of one another, and deceive the old folks that would couple us.
Niece. This wears the face of an amour.—There is something in that thought which makes thy presence less insupportable.
Hump. Nay, nay, now you're growing fond; if you come with these maid's tricks, to say you hate at first and afterwards like me, you'll spoil the whole design.