Sir Sim. 'Tis a lord's mortgage, and therefore requires the more haste:—pray do not jog me, madam.
L. Flip. Dull rascal! [Aside.
Sir Sim. They cannot stay for money as other folks. If you will not let me make an end on't, I shall lose my expedition-fee.
L. Flip. There are some clerks would have understood me before this. [Aside.
Sir Sim. Nay, pray be quiet, madam; if you squeeze me so to the wall, I cannot write.
L. Flip. [Aside.] 'Tis much for the honour of the gentlemen of this age, that we persons of quality are forced to descend to the importuning of a clerk, a butler, coachman, or footman; while the rogues are as dull of apprehension, too, as an unfledged country squire amongst his mother's maids! [Jogs him again.
Sir Sim. Again! Let me tell you, madam, familiarity breeds contempt: you'll never leave till you have made me saucy.
L. Flip. I would I could see that.
Sir Sim. I vow and swear then, get you gone! or I'll add a black patch or two to those on your face.—[Aside.] I shall have no time to get Mrs. Martha out, for her.
L. Flip. Will you, sir, will you! [Jogs him again.