Sylv. That I made acquaintance withal at the music-meeting?
Cour. Right, just such another spark to saunter by your side, with his hat under his arm.
Sylv. Hearkening to all the bitter things I can say to be revenged.
Cour. Whilst the dull rogue dare not so much as grin to oblige you, for fear of being beaten for it, when he is out of his waiting.
Sylv. Counterfeit your letters from me.
Cour. And you, to be even with me for the scandal, publish to all the world I offered to marry you.
Sylv. O hideous marriage!
Cour. Horrid, horrid marriage!
Sylv. Name, name no more of it!