BRISK. Pshaw, pshaw, prithee don't interrupt me. But I tell you,
you shall tell me at last, but it shall be a great while first.

CARE. Well, but prithee don't let it be a great while, because I
long to have it over.

BRISK. Well then, you tell me some good jest or some very witty
thing, laughing all the while as if you were ready to die, and I
hear it, and look thus. Would not you be disappointed?

CARE. No; for if it were a witty thing I should not expect you to
understand it.

LORD FROTH. Oh, foy, Mr. Careless, all the world allows Mr. Brisk
to have wit; my wife says he has a great deal. I hope you think her
a judge.

BRISK. Pooh, my lord, his voice goes for nothing; I can't tell how
to make him apprehend. Take it t'other way. Suppose I say a witty
thing to you?

CARE. Then I shall be disappointed indeed.

MEL. Let him alone, Brisk, he is obstinately bent not to be
instructed.

BRISK. I'm sorry for him, the deuce take me.

MEL. Shall we go to the ladies, my lord?