Sir Wil. Hold ye, hear me, friend; a word with you in your ear, prithee who are these gallants?

Foot. Really, sir, I can’t tell; here come so many here, ’tis hard to know ’em all.

SCENE XV

Sir Wilfull Witwoud, Petulant, Witwoud, Mrs. Marwood.

Sir Wil. Oons this fellow knows less than a starling; I don’t think a’ knows his own name.

Mrs. Mar. Mr. Witwoud, your brother is not behind-hand in forgetfulness—I fancy he has forgot you too.

Wit. I hope so—the devil take him that remembers first, I say.

Sir Wil. Save you, gentlemen and lady.

Mrs. Mar. For shame, Mr. Witwoud; why won’t you speak to him?—And you, sir.

Wit. Petulant, speak.

Pet. And you, sir.

Sir Wil. No offence, I hope.

[Salutes Marwood

Mrs. Mar. No, sure, sir.

Wit. This is a vile dog, I see that already. No offence! Ha, ha, ha, to him; to him, Petulant, smoke him.

Pet. It seems as if you had come a journey, sir; hem, hem.

[Surveying him round.

Sir Wil. Very likely, sir, that it may seem so.

Pet. No offence, I hope, sir.

Wit. Smoke the boots, the boots; Petulant, the boots; ha, ha, ha.

Sir Wil. Maybe not, sir; thereafter as ’tis meant, sir.

Pet. Sir, I presume upon the information of your boots.

Sir Wil. Why, ’tis like you may, sir: if you are not satisfied with the information of my boots, sir, if you will step to the stable, you may enquire further of my horse, sir.

Pet. Your horse, sir! Your horse is an ass, sir!

Sir Wil. Do you speak by way of offence, sir?

Mrs. Mar. The gentleman’s merry, that’s all, sir.—S’life, we shall have a quarrel betwixt an horse and an ass, before they find one another out. You must not take anything amiss from your friends, sir. You are among your friends here, though it may be you don’t know it.—If I am not mistaken, you are Sir Wilfull Witwoud.

Sir Wil. Right, lady; I am Sir Wilfull Witwoud, so I write myself; no offence to anybody, I hope; and nephew to the Lady Wishfort of this mansion.