Man. Thy courage will appear more by thy belt than thy sword, I dare swear.—Then, madam, for this gentle piece of courtesy, this man of tame honour, what could you find in him? Was it his languishing affected tone? his mannerly look? his second-hand flattery? the refuse of the playhouse tiring-rooms? or his slavish obsequiousness in watching at the door of your box at the playhouse, for your hand to your chair? or his jaunty way of playing with your fan? or was it the gunpowder spot on his hand, or the jewel in his ear, that purchased your heart?
Oliv. Good jealous captain, no more of your—
L. Plau. No, let him go on, madam, for perhaps he may make you laugh: and I would contribute to your pleasure any way.
Man. Gentle rogue!
Oliv. No, noble captain, you cannot sure think anything could take me more than that heroic title of yours, captain; for you know we women love honour inordinately.
Nov. Ha! ha! faith, she is with thee, bully, for thy raillery.
Man. Faith, so shall I be with you, no bully, for your grinning. [Aside to Novel.
Oliv. Then that noble lion-like mien of yours, that soldier-like, weather-beaten complexion, and that manly roughness of your voice; how can they otherwise than charm us women, who hate effeminacy!
Nov. Ha! ha! faith I can't hold from laughing.
Man. Nor shall I from kicking anon. [Aside to Novel.