Dem. Fresh ones, of blackest dye.
Mic. There now—at it again.
Dem. Ah, Micio! you little know what sort of person he is.
Mic. I do.
Dem. O simpleton! you are dreaming that I’m talking about the Music-girl; this crime is against a virgin and a citizen.
Mic. I know it.
Dem. So then, you know it, and put up with it!
Mic. Why not put up with it?
Dem. Tell me, pray, don’t you exclaim about it? Don’t you go distracted?
Mic. Not I: certainly I had rather[79]——