Don. Ay, they are three indeed!—But pray have patience.
Mrs. Caut. Do you see how she leers upon him, and clings to him? Can you suffer it? [To Monsieur.
Mons. Ay, ay.
Ger. One, two, three, and a slur.—Can you be so unconcerned after all?
Don. What! is she unconcerned?—Hussy, mind your business.
Ger. One, two, three, and turn round;—one, two, fall back—hell and damnation!
Don. Ay, people fall back indeed into hell and damnation, Heaven knows!
Ger. One, two, three, and your honour.—I can fool no longer!
Mrs. Caut. Nor will I be withheld any longer, like a poor hen in her pen, while the kite is carrying away her chicken before her face.
Don. What, have you done?—Well then, let's see her dance it now to the violin.