Man. Tell not me, my good Lord Plausible, of your decorums, supercilious forms, and slavish ceremonies! your little tricks, which you, the spaniels of the world, do daily over and over, for and to one another; not out of love or duty, but your servile fear.
L. Plau. Nay, i' faith, i' faith, you are too passionate; and I must humbly beg your pardon and leave to tell you, they are the arts and rules the prudent of the world walk by.
Man. Let 'em. But I'll have no leading-strings; I can walk alone: I hate a harness, and will not tug on in a faction, kissing my leader behind, that another slave may do the like to me.
L. Plau. What, will you be singular then, like nobody? follow, love, and esteem nobody?
Man. Rather than be general, like you, follow everybody; court and kiss everybody; though perhaps at the same time you hate everybody.
L. Plau. Why, seriously, with your pardon, my dear friend—
Man. With your pardon, my no friend, I will not, as you do, whisper my hatred or my scorn; call a man fool or knave by signs or mouths over his shoulder, whilst you have him in your arms.—For such as you, like common whores and pickpockets, are only dangerous to those you embrace.
L. Plau. Such as I! Heavens defend me!—upon my honour—
Man. Upon your title, my lord, if you'd have me believe you.
L. Plau. Well, then, as I am a person of honour, I never attempted to abuse or lessen any person in my life.