Ant. Very well: come, now let's sit down and think upon't a little—come sit, I say—sit down by me a little, my Nicky Nacky, hah—[Sits down] Hurry durry—good for nothing!
Aquil. No, sir; if you please, I can know my distance and stand.
Ant. Stand: how? Nacky up, and I down! Nay, then let me exclaim with the poet:—
Show me a case more pitiful who can,
A standing woman, and a falling man.
Hurry durry—not sit down—see this, ye gods! You won't sit down?
Aquil. No, sir.
Ant. Then look you, now, suppose me a bull, a Basan-bull, the bull of bulls, or any bull. Thus up I get, and with my brows thus bent—I broo, I say, I broo, I broo, I broo. You won't sit down, will you? I broo—— [Bellows like a bull, and drives her about.
Aquil. Well, sir; I must endure this. [She sits down.] Now your honour has been a bull, pray what beast will your worship please to be next?
Ant. Now I'll be a senator again, and thy lover, little Nicky Nacky! [He sits by her.] Ah, toad, toad, toad, toad! spit in my face a little, Nacky—spit in my face, pr'ythee spit in my face, never so little: spit but a little bit—spit, spit, spit, spit, when you are bid, I say; do, pr'ythee spit—now, now, now spit. What, you won't spit, will you? then I'll be a dog.
Aquil. A dog, my lord?