SHARP. Harkee, Sir Joseph, a word with ye. In consideration of some favours lately received, I would not have you draw yourself into a _premunire_, by trusting to that sign of a man there--that pot-gun charged with wind. SIR JO. O Lord, O Lord, Captain, come justify yourself--I'll give him the lie if you'll stand to it. SHARP. Nay, then, I'll be beforehand with you, take that, oaf. [_Cuffs him_.] SIR JO. Captain, will you see this? Won't you pink his soul? BLUFF. Husht, 'tis not so convenient now--I shall find a time. SHARP. What do you mutter about a time, rascal? You were the incendiary. There's to put you in mind of your time.--A memorandum. [_Kicks him_.] BLUFF. Oh, this is your time, sir; you had best make use on't. SHARP. I--Gad and so I will: there's again for you. [_Kicks him_.] BLUFF. You are obliging, sir, but this is too public a place to thank you in. But in your ear, you are to be seen again? SHARP. Ay, thou inimitable coward, and to be felt--as for example. [_Kicks him_.] BELL. Ha, ha, ha, prithee come away; 'tis scandalous to kick this puppy unless a man were cold and had no other way to get himself aheat. SCENE IX. SIR JOSEPH, BLUFFE. BLUFF. Very well--very fine--but 'tis no matter. Is not this fine, Sir Joseph? SIR JO. Indifferent, agad, in my opinion, very indifferent. I'd rather go plain all my life than wear such finery. BLUFF. Death and hell to be affronted thus! I'll die before I'll suffer it. [_Draws_.] SIR JO. O Lord, his anger was not raised before. Nay, dear Captain, don't be in passion now he's gone. Put up, put up, dear Back, 'tis your Sir Joseph begs, come let me kiss thee; so, so, put up, put up. BLUFF. By heaven, 'tis not to be put up. SIR JO. What, Bully? BLUFF. The affront. SIR JO. No, aged, no more 'tis, for that's put up all already; thy sword, I mean. BLUFF. Well, Sir Joseph, at your entreaty--But were not you, my friend, abused, and cuffed, and kicked? [_Putting up his sword_.] SIR JO. Ay, ay, so were you too; no matter, 'tis past. BLUFF. By the immortal thunder of great guns, 'tis false--he sucks not vital air who dares affirm it to this face. [_Looks big_.] SIR JO. To that face I grant you, Captain. No, no, I grant you--not to that face, by the Lord Harry. If you had put on your fighting face before, you had done his business--he durst as soon have kissed you, as kicked you to your face. But a man can no more help what's done behind his back than what's said--Come, we'll think no more of what's past. BLUFF. I'll call a council of war within to consider of my revenge to come. SCENE X. HEARTWELL, SILVIA. _Silvia's apartment_. SONG. As Amoret and Thyrsis lay Melting the hours in gentle play, Joining faces, mingling kisses, And exchanging harmless blisses: He trembling cried, with eager haste, O let me feed as well as taste, I die, if I'm not wholly blest. [_After the song a dance of antics_.]