Mons. Come, no wheedling, aunt: come away.
Mrs. Caut. That slippery fellow will do't.
Mons. Let him do't.
Mrs. Caut. Indeed he will do't; royally he will.
Mons. Well, let him do't, royally.
Mrs. Caut. He will wrong you.
Mons. Well, let him, I say; I have a mind to be wronged: what's that to you? I will be wronged, if you go there too, I vow and swear.
Mrs. Caut. You shall not be wronged.
Mons. I will.
Mrs. Caut. You shall not.