SIR SAMP. Oons, you’re a crocodile.
FORE. Really, Sir Sampson, this is a sudden eclipse.
SIR SAMP. You’re an illiterate old fool, and I’m another.
TATT. If the gentleman is in disorder for want of a wife, I can spare him mine.—Oh, are you there, sir? I’m indebted to you for my happiness. [To Jeremy.]
JERE. Sir, I ask you ten thousand pardons: ’twas an errant mistake. You see, sir, my master was never mad, nor anything like it. Then how could it be otherwise?
VAL. Tattle, I thank you; you would have interposed between me and heaven, but Providence laid purgatory in your way. You have but justice.
SCAN. I hear the fiddles that Sir Sampson provided for his own wedding; methinks ’tis pity they should not be employed when the match is so much mended. Valentine, though it be morning, we may have a dance.
VAL. Anything, my friend, everything that looks like joy and transport.
SCAN. Call ’em, Jeremy.
ANG. I have done dissembling now, Valentine; and if that coldness which I have always worn before you should turn to an extreme fondness, you must not suspect it.