Ant. Madonna, as I take it, you are my—you are—thou art my little Nicky Nacky—that's all!
Aquil. I find you are resolved to be troublesome; and so, to make short of the matter in few words, I hate you, detest you, loathe you, I am weary of you, sick of you. Hang you, you are an old, silly, impertinent, impotent, solicitous coxcomb; crazy in your head and lazy in your body, love to be meddling with every thing; and if you had not money, you are good for nothing.
Ant. Good for nothing! Hurry durry, I'll try that presently. Sixty-one years[69] old, and good for nothing! that's brave. [To the Maid.] Come, come, come, Mistress Fiddle-faddle, turn you out for a season; go, turn out, I say; it is our will and pleasure to be private some moments—out, out when you are bid too—[Puts her out and locks the door.] Good for nothing, you say?
Aquil. Why, what are you good for?
Ant. In the first place, madam, I am old, and consequently very wise, very wise, Madonna, d'ye mark that? in the second place, take notice, if you please, that I am a senator, and when I think fit can make speeches, Madonna. Hurry durry, I can make a speech in the Senate-house, now and then, would make your hair stand on end, Madonna.
Aquil. What care I for your speeches in the Senate-house? If you would be silent here, I should thank you.
Ant. Why, I can make speeches to thee too, my lovely Madonna; for example [Takes out a purse of gold, and at every pause shakes it]:—
My cruel fair one, since it is my fate
That you should with your servant angry prove,
Though late at night, I hope 'tis not too late
With this to gain reception for my love.
There's for thee, my little Nicky Nacky—take it; here, take it—I say take it, or I'll throw it at your head—how now, rebel!
Aquil. Truly, my illustrious senator, I must confess your honour is at present most profoundly eloquent indeed.