L. Dunce. Ay, and so let him.
Sir Dav. With all my heart, I'll give him free leave, or hang me; though thou wouldst not imagine how the poor devil's altered. La you there now, but as certainly as I stand here, that man is troubled that he swears he shall not rest day nor night till he has satisfied thee; pr'ythee be satisfied with him if 'tis possible, my dear, pr'ythee do. I promised him, before I left him, to tell thee as much: for the poor wretch looks so simply, I could not choose but pity him, I vow and swear, ha, ha, ha!
Sir Jol. Now, now, you little witch! now, you chitsface! Odd, I could find in my heart to put my little finger in your bubbies.
L. Dunce. Sir Davy, I must tell you, that I cannot but resent your so soon reconcilement with a man that I hate worse than death, and that if you loved me with half that tenderness which you profess, you would not forget an affront so palpably and so basely offered me.
Sir Dav. Why, chicken, where's the remedy? What's to be done? How wouldst thou have me deal with him?
L. Dunce. Cut his throat.
Sir Dav. Bless us for ever! cut his throat! what, do murder?
L. Dunce. Murder! yes, anything to such an incorrigible enemy of your honour, one that has resolved to persist in abusing of you. See here this letter, this I received since I last parted with you; just now it was thrown into my chair by an impudent lackey of his, kept o' purpose for such employments.
Sir Dav. Let me see: a letter, indeed!—"For the Lady Dunce": damned rogue, treacherous dog, what can he say in the inside now? here's a villain!