Mrs. Mar. I perceive your debates are of importance, and very learnedly handled.

Pet. Importance is one thing, and learning’s another; but a debate’s a debate, that I assert.

Wit. Petulant’s an enemy to learning; he relies altogether on his parts.

Pet. No, I’m no enemy to learning; it hurts not me.

Mrs. Mar. That’s a sign indeed it’s no enemy to you.

Pet. No, no, it’s no enemy to anybody, but them that have it.

Milla. Well, an illiterate man’s my aversion, I wonder at the impudence of any illiterate man, to offer to make love.

Wit. That I confess I wonder at too.

Milla. Ah! to marry an ignorant! that can hardly read or write.

Pet. Why should a man be any further from being married though he can’t read, than he is from being hanged? The ordinary’s paid for setting the psalm, and the parish-priest for reading the ceremony. And for the rest which is to follow in both cases, a man may do it without book—so all’s one for that.

Milla. D’ye hear the creature? Lord, here’s company, I’ll be gone.

SCENE XIV

Sir Wilfull Witwoud in a riding dress, Mrs. Marwood, Petulant, Witwoud, Footman.

Wit. In the name of Bartlemew and his fair, what have we here?

Mrs. Mar. ’Tis your brother, I fancy. Don’t you know him?

Wit. Not I—Yes, I think it is he—I’ve almost forgot him; I have not seen him since the Revolution.

Foot. Sir, my lady’s dressing. Here’s company; if you please to walk in, in the meantime.

Sir Wil. Dressing! What, it’s but morning here I warrant with you in London; we should count it towards afternoon in our parts, down in Shropshire.—Why then belike my aunt han’t dined yet—ha. friend?

Foot. Your aunt, sir?

Sir Wil. My aunt, sir, yes, my aunt, sir, and your lady, sir; your lady is my aunt, sir—Why, what do’st thou not know me, friend? Why then send somebody hither that does. How long hast thou lived with thy lady, fellow, ha?

Foot. A week, sir; longer than anybody in the house, except my lady’s woman.

Sir Wil. Why then belike thou dost not know thy lady, if thou see’st her, ha, friend?

Foot. Why truly, sir, I cannot safely swear to her face in a morning, before she is dressed. ’Tis like I may give a shrewd guess at her by this time.

Sir Wil. Well, prithee try what thou canst do; if thou canst not guess, enquire her out, do’st hear, fellow? And tell her, her nephew, Sir Wilfull Witwoud, is in the house.

Foot. I shall, sir.