Syr. Whither am I bringing her? To our house, to be sure.
Clit. What! to my father’s?
Syr. To the very same.
Clit. Oh, the audacious impudence of the fellow!
Syr. Hark’ye, no great and memorable action is done without some risk.
Clit. Look now; are you seeking to gain credit for yourself, at the hazard of my character, you rascal, in a point, where, if you only make the slightest slip, I am ruined? What would you be doing with her?
Syr. But still—
Clit. Why “still?”
Syr. If you’ll give me leave, I’ll tell you.
Clin. Do give him leave.