Old. O rogue, rogue, insipid rogue!—Nay, gentlemen, allow him those things for wit; for his parts lie only that way.
Nov. Peace, old fool! I wonder not at thee; but that young fellows should be so dull, as to say there's no humour in making a noise, and breaking windows! I tell you there's wit and humour too in both; and a wit is as well known by his frolic as by his smile.
Old. Pure rogue! there's your modern wit for you! Wit and humour in breaking of windows: there's mischief, if you will, but no wit or humour.
Nov. Prithee, prithee, peace, old fool! I tell you, where there's mischief, there's wit. Don't we esteem the monkey a wit amongst beasts, only because he's mischievous? and, let me tell you, as good-nature is a sign of a fool, being mischievous is a sign of a wit.
Old. O rogue, rogue! pretend to be a wit, by doing mischief and railing!
Nov. Why, thou, old fool, hast no other pretence to the name of a wit, but by railing at new plays!
Old. Thou, by railing at that facetious noble way of wit, quibbling!
Nov. Thou callest thy dulness gravity; and thy dozing, thinking.
Old. You, sir, your dulness, spleen; and you talk much and say nothing.
Nov. Thou readest much, and understandest nothing, sir.