Tip. Write it down, Mr. Pounce, at the end of the leaf.
Sir Har. If you have room, Mr. Pounce, put down "villain, son of a whore, curmudgeon, hunks, and scoundrel."
Tip. Not so fast, Sir Harry, he cannot write so fast; you are at the word "villain"; "son of a whore," I take it, was next—You may make the account as large as you please, Sir Harry.
Sir Har. Come, come, I won't be used thus. Hark ye, sirrah, draw—what do you do at this end of the town without a sword? Draw, I say—
Tip. Sir Harry, you are a military man, a colonel of the Militia.
Sir Har. I am so, sirrah, and will run such an extorting dog as you through the guts, to show the Militia is useful.
Pounce. O dear, O dear! How am I concerned to see persons of your figure thus moved—The wedding is coming in, we'll settle these things afterwards.
Tip. I am calm.
Sir Har. Tipkin, live these two hours, but expect—
Enter Humphry, leading Niece; Mrs. Clerimont, led by Fainlove; Captain Clerimont and Clerimont, Sen.