WIT. If there had been words enow between 'em to have expressed
provocation, they had gone together by the ears like a pair of
castanets.
PET. You were the quarrel.
MILLA. Me?
PET. If I have a humour to quarrel, I can make less matters
conclude premises. If you are not handsome, what then? If I have a
humour to prove it? If I shall have my reward, say so; if not,
fight for your face the next time yourself--I'll go sleep.
WIT. Do, wrap thyself up like a woodlouse, and dream revenge. And,
hear me, if thou canst learn to write by to-morrow morning, pen me a
challenge. I'll carry it for thee.
PET. Carry your mistress's monkey a spider; go flea dogs and read
romances. I'll go to bed to my maid.
MRS. FAIN. He's horridly drunk--how came you all in this pickle?
WIT. A plot, a plot, to get rid of the knight--your husband's
advice; but he sneaked off.
SCENE X.
SIR WILFULL, drunk, LADY WISHFORT, WITWOUD, MRS. MILLAMANT, MRS.
FAINALL.
LADY. Out upon't, out upon't, at years of discretion, and comport
yourself at this rantipole rate!
SIR WIL.
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