Beau. As me, sir! why, who am I, good Sir Domine Doddlepate?
Sir Dav. So, take notice he threatens me; I'll have him bound to the peace instantly. Will you never have remorse of conscience, friend? have you banished all shame from your soul? Do you consider my name is Sir Davy Dunce? that I have the most virtuous wife living? do you consider that? Now how like a rogue he looks again! what a hang-dog leer was that!
Beau. Your virtuous wife, sir! you are always harping upon that string, Sir Davy.
Sir Dav. No, 'tis you would be harping upon that string, sir: see you this? cast your eyes upon this, this letter, sir. Did you not promise, this very day, to abandon all manner of proceedings of this nature, tending to the dishonour of me and my family?
Beau. Letter, sir! What the devil does he mean now? Let me see, "For the Lady Dunce"; this is no scrawl of mine, I'll be sworn; by Jove, her own hand! what a dog was I! forty to one but I had played the fool, and spoiled all again. Was there ever so charming a creature breathing!—Did your lady deliver this to your hands, sir?
Sir Dav. Even her own self in person, sir, and bade me tell you, sir, that she has too just an esteem of me, sir, not to value such a fellow as you are as you deserve.
Beau. Very good: [Reads] "I doubt not but this letter will surprise you"—in troth, and so it does extremely—"but reflect upon the manner of conveying it to your hand as kindly as you can."
Sir Dav. Ay, a damned thief, to have it thrown into the chair by a footman.
Beau. [Reads.] "Would Sir Davy were but half so kind to you as I am!"
Sir Dav. Say you so, you insinuating knave?