MIRA. I thank you heartily, heartily.
WIT. No, but prithee excuse me:- my memory is such a memory.
MIRA. Have a care of such apologies, Witwoud; for I never knew a fool but he affected to complain either of the spleen or his memory.
FAIN. What have you done with Petulant?
WIT. He's reckoning his money; my money it was: I have no luck to- day.
FAIN. You may allow him to win of you at play, for you are sure to be too hard for him at repartee: since you monopolise the wit that is between you, the fortune must be his of course.
MIRA. I don't find that Petulant confesses the superiority of wit to be your talent, Witwoud.
WIT. Come, come, you are malicious now, and would breed debates. Petulant's my friend, and a very honest fellow, and a very pretty fellow, and has a smattering--faith and troth, a pretty deal of an odd sort of a small wit: nay, I'll do him justice. I'm his friend, I won't wrong him. And if he had any judgment in the world, he would not be altogether contemptible. Come, come, don't detract from the merits of my friend.
FAIN. You don't take your friend to be over-nicely bred?
WIT. No, no, hang him, the rogue has no manners at all, that I must own; no more breeding than a bum-baily, that I grant you:- 'tis pity; the fellow has fire and life.
MIRA. What, courage?
WIT. Hum, faith, I don't know as to that, I can't say as to that. Yes, faith, in a controversy he'll contradict anybody.
MIRA. Though 'twere a man whom he feared or a woman whom he loved.