Horn. I thank you, madam: I could never find pity, but from such reverend ladies as you are; the young ones will never spare a man.
Mrs. Squeam. Come, come, beast, and go dine with us; for we shall want a man at ombre after dinner.
Horn. That's all their use of me, madam, you see.
Mrs. Squeam. Come, sloven, I'll lead you, to be sure of you. [Pulls him by the cravat.
L. Squeam. Alas, poor man, how she tugs him! Kiss, kiss her; that's the way to make such nice women quiet.
Horn. No, madam, that remedy is worse than the torment; they know I dare suffer anything rather than do it.
L. Squeam. Prithee kiss her, and I'll give you her picture in little, that you admired so last night; prithee do.
Horn. Well, nothing but that could bribe me: I love a woman only in effigy, and good painting as much as I hate them.—I'll do't, for I could adore the devil well painted. [Kisses Mrs. Squeamish.
Mrs. Squeam. Foh, you filthy toad! nay, now I've done jesting.