Don. How's that? I not a Spaniard! say such a word again—
Ger. Come forward, madam, three steps again.
Mrs. Caut. See, see, she squeezes his hand now: O the debauched harlotry!
Don. So, so, mind her not; she moves forward pretty well; but you must move as well backward as forward, or you'll never do anything to purpose.
Mrs. Caut. Do you know what you say, brother, yourself, now? are you at your beastliness before your young daughter?
Prue. Ha! ha! ha!
Don. How now, mistress, are you so merry?—Is this your staid maid as you call her, sister Impertinent?
Ger. I have not much to say to you, miss; but I shall not have an opportunity to do it, unless we can get your father out. [Aside to Hippolita.
Don. Come, about again with her.