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Abs. Oh, sir, beg her pardon, humour her-promise and vow but I detain you, sir -consider the cold air on your gout.

Sir Anth. Oh, not at all!-not at all! I'm in no hurry.-Ah! Jack, you youngsters, when once you are wounded here-[Putting his hand to Captain ABSOLUTE'S breast.] Hey! what the deuce have you got here?

Abs. Nothing, sir—nothing.

Sir Anth. What's this?-here's something damned hard.

Abs. Oh, trinkets, sir! trinkets!—a bauble for Lydia! Sir Anth. Nay, let me see your taste.-[Pulls his coat open, the sword falls.] Trinkets!-a bauble for Lydia! -Zounds! sirrah, you are not going to cut her throat, are you?

Abs. Ha! ha! ha!-I thought it would divert you, sir, though I didn't mean to tell you till afterwards. Sir Anth. You didn't?—Yes, this is a very diverting trinket, truly!

Abs. Sir, I'll explain to you.—You know, sir, Lydia is romantic, devilish romantic, and very absurd of course: now, sir, I intend, if she refuses to forgive me, to unsheath this sword, and swear-I'll fall upon its point, and expire at her feet!

Sir Anth. Fall upon a fiddlestick's end!—why, I suppose it is the very thing that would please her.-Get along, you fool!

Abs. Well, sir, you shall hear of my success-you shall hear.-O Lydia!-forgive me, or this pointed steel -says I.