Sir, the Coach stays.

PETULANT. Well, well; I come –– Sbud, a Man had as good be a profess'd Midwife as a profest Whoremaster, at this rate; to be knock'd up and rais'd at all Hours and in all Places. Pox on 'em I won't come. – Dee hear, tell 'em I won't come. – Let 'em snivel and cry their Hearts out.

FAINALL. You are very cruel, Petulant.

PETULANT. All's one, let it pass –– I have a Humour to be cruel.

MIRABELL. I hope they are not Persons of Condition that you use at this rate.

PETULANT. Condition, Condition's a dry'd Fig, if I am not in Humour – By this Hand, if they were your – a – a – your What-dee-call–'ems themselves, they must wait or rub off, if I want Appetite.

MIRABELL. What-dee-call–'ems! What are they, Witwoud?

WITWOUD. Empresses, my Dear –– By your What- dee-call'ems he means Sultana Queens.

PETULANT. Ay, Roxolana's.

MIRABELL. Cry you Mercy.

FAINALL. Witwoud says they are –

PETULANT. What does he say th' are?

WITWOUD. I; fine Ladies I say.

PETULANT. Pass on, Witwoud –– Hearkee, by this Light his Relations –– Two Coheiresses his Cousins, and an old Aunt, that loves Catterwauling better than a Conventicle.

WITWOUD. Ha, ha, ha; I had a Mind to see how the Rogue wou'd come off –– Ha, ha, ha; Gad I can't be angry with him; if he said they were my Mother and my Sisters.

MIRABELL. No!

WITWOUD. No; the Rogue's Wit and Readiness of Invention charm me, dear Petulant.

BETTY. They are gone Sir, in great Anger.

PETULANT. Enough, let 'em trundle. Anger helps Complexion, saves Paint.

FAINALL. This Continence is all dissembled; this is in order to have something to brag of the next time he makes Court to Millamant, and swear he has abandon'd the whole Sex for her Sake.

MIRABELL. Have you not left off your impudent Pretensions there yet? I shall cut your Throat, sometime or other, Petulant, about that Business.

PETULANT. Ay, ay, let that pass –– There are other Throats to be cut –

MIRABELL. Meaning mine, Sir?

PETULANT. Not I –– I mean no Body –– I know nothing –– But there are Uncles and Nephews in the World –– And they may be Rivals –– What then? All's one for that –

MIRABELL. How! hearkee Petulant, come hither –– Explain, or I shall call your Interpreter.

PETULANT. Explain, I know nothing –– Why you have an Uncle, have you not, lately come to Town, and lodges by my Lady Wishfort's?

MIRABELL.