Don. Come, friend, about your business; about with my daughter.
Hip. Nay, pray, father, be pleased to go out a little, and let us practise awhile, and then you shall see me dance the whole dance to the violin.
Don. Tittle tattle! more fooling still!—Did not you say, when your master was here last, I should see you dance to the violin when he came again?
Hip. So I did, father: but let me practise a little first before, that I may be perfect. Besides, my aunt is here, and she will put me out; you know I cannot dance before her.
Don. Fiddle faddle!
Mons. [Aside.] They're afraid to be discovered by Gerrard's bungling, I see.—[Aloud.] Come, come, uncle turn out! let 'em practise.
Don. I won't, voto á St. Jago! what a fooling's here.
Mons. Come, come, let 'em practise: turn out, turn out, uncle.
Don. Why can't she practise it before me?
Mons. Come, dancers and singers are sometimes humoursome; besides, 'twill be more grateful to you to see it danced all at once to the violin. Come, turn out, turn out, I say.