L. Plau. Why, under correction, dear sir?
Nov. There are reasons, reasons, viscount.
L. Plau. What, I beseech you, noble sir?
Nov. Prithee, prithee, be not impertinent, my lord; some of you lords are such conceited, well-assured, impertinent rogues.
L. Plau. And you noble wits are so full of shamming and drolling, one knows not where to have you seriously.
Nov. Well, you shall find me in bed with this lady one of these days.
L. Plau. Nay, I beseech you, spare the lady's honour; for hers and mine will be all one shortly.
Nov. Prithee, my lord, be not an ass. Dost thou think to get her from me? I have had such encouragements—
L. Plau. I have not been thought unworthy of 'em.
Nov. What, not like mine! Come to an eclaircissement, as I said.