MILLAMANT.
Fainall, what shall I do? Shall I have him? I think I must have him.
FAINALL.
Ay, ay, take him, take him. What should you do?
MILLAMANT.
Well, then—I'll take my death I'm in a horrid fright.—Fainall, I shall never say it.—Well—I think—I'll endure you.
FAINALL.
Fy, fy, have him, have him, and tell him so in plain terms. For I am sure you have a mind to him.
MILLAMANT.
Are you? I think I have.—And the horrid man looks as if he thought so too.—Well, you ridiculous thing you, I'll have you.—I won't be kissed, nor I won't be thanked.—Here, kiss my hand though.—So hold your tongue now; don't say a word.