ason your master did not appear
to-day according to the summons I brought him?

SETTER. To answer you as briefly--he has a cause to be tried in another
court.

LUCY. Come, tell me in plain terms, how forward he is with Araminta.

SETTER. Too forward to be turned back--though he's a little in disgrace
at present about a kiss which he forced. You and I can kiss, Lucy,
without all that.

LUCY. Stand off--he's a precious jewel.

SETTER. And therefore you'd have him to set in your lady's locket.

LUCY. Where is he now?

SETTER. He'll be in the Piazza presently.

LUCY. Remember to-day's behaviour. Let me see you with a penitent face.

SETTER. What, no token of amity, Lucy? You and I don't use to part with
dry lips.

LUCY. No, no, avaunt--I'll not be slabbered and kissed now--I'm not i'
th' humour.

SETTER. I'll not quit you so. I'll follow and put you into the humour.

SCENE VII.

SIR JOSEPH WITTOLL, BLUFFE.

BLUFF. And so, out of your unwonted generosity--

SIR JO. And good-nature, Back; I am good-natured and I can't help it.

BLUFF. You have given him a note upon Fondlewife for a hundred pound.

SIR JO. Ay, ay, poor fellow; he ventured fair for't.

BLUFF. You have disobliged me in it--for I have occasion for the money,
and if you would look me in the face again and live, go, and force him to
redeliver you the note. Go, and bring it me hither. I'll stay here for
you.

SIR JO. You may stay until the day of judgment, then, by the Lord Harry.
I know better things than to be run through the guts for a hundred
pounds. Why, I gave that hundred pound for being saved, and de'e think,
an there were no danger, I'll be so ungrateful to take it from the
gentleman again?

BLUFF. Well, go to him from me--tell him, I say, he must refund--or
Bilbo's the world, and slaughter will ensue. If he refuse, tell him--but
whisper that--tell him--I'll pink his soul. But whisper that softly to
him.

SIR JO. So softly that he shall never hear on't, I warrant you. Why,
what a devil's the matter, Bully; are you mad? or de'e think I'm mad?
Agad, for my part, I don't love to be the messenger of ill news; 'tis an
ungrateful office--so tell him yourself.

BLUFF. By these hilts I believe he frightened you into this composition:
I believe you gave it him out of fear, pure, paltry fear--confess.

SIR JO. No, no, hang't; I was not afraid neither--though I confess he
did in a manner snap me up--ye