PET. Your horse, sir! Your horse is an ass, sir!
SIR WIL. Do you speak by way of offence, sir?
MRS. MAR. The gentleman’s merry, that’s all, sir. ’Slife, we shall have a quarrel betwixt an horse and an ass, before they find one another out.—You must not take anything amiss from your friends, sir. You are among your friends here, though it—may be you don’t know it. If I am not mistaken, you are Sir Wilfull Witwoud?
SIR WIL. Right, lady; I am Sir Wilfull Witwoud, so I write myself; no offence to anybody, I hope? and nephew to the Lady Wishfort of this mansion.
MRS. MAR. Don’t you know this gentleman, sir?
SIR WIL. Hum! What, sure ’tis not—yea by’r lady but ’tis—’sheart, I know not whether ’tis or no. Yea, but ’tis, by the Wrekin. Brother Antony! What, Tony, i’faith! What, dost thou not know me? By’r lady, nor I thee, thou art so becravated and so beperiwigged. ’Sheart, why dost not speak? Art thou o’erjoyed?
WIT. Odso, brother, is it you? Your servant, brother.
SIR WIL. Your servant? Why, yours, sir. Your servant again—’sheart, and your friend and servant to that—and a—[puff] and a flap-dragon for your service, sir, and a hare’s foot and a hare’s scut for your service, sir, an you be so cold and so courtly!
WIT. No offence, I hope, brother?
SIR WIL. ’Sheart, sir, but there is, and much offence. A pox, is this your inns o’ court breeding, not to know your friends and your relations, your elders, and your betters?