Sir Anth. Now damn me! if ever I call you Jack again while I live!

Abs. Nay, sir, but hear me.

Sir Anth. Sir, I won’t hear a word—not a word! not one word! so give me your promise by a nod—and I’ll tell you what, Jack—I mean, you dog—if you don’t, by—

Abs. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugliness! to—

Sir Anth. Zounds! sirrah! the lady shall be as ugly as I choose: she shall have a hump on each shoulder; she shall be as crooked as the crescent; her one eye shall roll like the bull’s in Cox’s Museum; she shall have a skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew—she shall be all this, sirrah!—yet I will make you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty.

Abs. This is reason and moderation indeed!

Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy! no grinning, jackanapes!

Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humour for mirth in my life.

Sir Anth. ’Tis false, sir. I know you are laughing in your sleeve; I know you’ll grin when I am gone, sirrah!

Abs. Sir, I hope I know my duty better.

Sir Anth. None of your passion, sir! none of your violence, if you please!—It won’t do with me, I promise you.

Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life.

Sir Anth. ’Tis a confounded lie!—I know you are in a passion in your heart; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog! but it won’t do.

Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word—

Sir Anth. So you will fly out! can’t you be cool like me? What the devil good can passion do?—Passion is of no service, you impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate!—There, you sneer again! don’t provoke me!—but you rely upon the mildness of my temper—you do, you dog! you play upon the meekness of my disposition!—Yet take care—the patience of a saint may be overcome at last!—but mark! I give you six hours and a half to consider of this: if you then agree, without any condition, to do everything on earth that I choose, why—confound you! I may in time forgive you.—If not, zounds! don’t enter the same hemisphere with me! don’t dare to breathe the same air, or use the same light with me; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own! I’ll strip you of your commission; I’ll lodge a five-and-threepence in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest.—I’ll disown you, I’ll disinherit you, I’ll unget you! and damn me! if ever I call you Jack again!

[Exit.

Abs. Mild, gentle, considerate father—I kiss your hands!— What a tender method of giving his opinion in these matters Sir Anthony has! I dare not trust him with the truth.—I wonder what old wealthy hag it is that he wants to bestow on me!—Yet he married himself for love! and was in his youth a bold intriguer, and a gay companion!

Re-enter Fag.

Fag. Assuredly, sir, your father is wrath to a degree; he comes down stairs eight or ten steps at a time—muttering, growling, and thumping the banisters all the way: I and the cook’s dog stand bowing at the