Man. Yes, things! Canst thou be angry, thou thing? [Coming up to Novel.
Nov. No, since my lord says you speak in raillery; for though your sea-raillery be something rough, yet, I confess, we use one another too as bad every day at Locket's,[104] and never quarrel for the matter.
L. Plau. Nay, noble captain, be not angry with him.—A word with you, I beseech you—[Whispers to Manly.
Oliv. Well, we women, like the rest of the cheats of the world, when our cullies or creditors have found us out, and will or can trust no longer, pay debts and satisfy obligations with a quarrel, the kindest present a man can make to his mistress, when he can make no more presents. For oftentimes in love, as at cards, we are forced to play foul, only to give over the game; and use our lovers like the cards, when we can get no more by them, throw 'em up in a pet upon the first dispute. [Aside.
Man. My lord, all that you have made me know by your whispering, which I knew not before, is, that you have a stinking breath; there's a secret for your secret.
L. Plau. Pshaw! pshaw!
Man. But, madam, tell me, pray, what was't about this spark could take you? Was it the merit of his fashionable impudence; the briskness of his noise, the wit of his laugh, his judgment, or fancy in his garniture? or was it a well-trimmed glove, or the scent of it, that charmed you?
Nov. Very well, sir: 'gad these sea captains make nothing of dressing. But let me tell you, sir, a man by his dress, as much as by anything, shows his wit and judgment; nay, and his courage too.
Free. How, his courage, Mr. Novel?
Nov. Why, for example, by red breeches, tucked-up hair or peruke, a greasy broad belt, and now-a-days a short sword.