LADY PLYANT. Sir Paul, have patience, let me alone to rattle him
up.

SIR PAUL. Pray, your ladyship, give me leave to be angry. I'll
rattle him up, I warrant you, I'll firk him with a CERTIORARI.

LADY PLYANT. You firk him, I'll firk him myself; pray, Sir Paul,
hold you contented.

CYNT. Bless me, what makes my father in such a passion? I never
saw him thus before.

SIR PAUL. Hold yourself contented, my Lady Plyant. I find passion
coming upon me by inflation, and I cannot submit as formerly,
therefore give way.

LADY PLYANT. How now! will you be pleased to retire and -

SIR PAUL. No, marry will I not be pleased: I am pleased to be
angry, that's my pleasure at this time.

MEL. What can this mean?

LADY PLYANT. Gads my life, the man's distracted; why, how now, who
are you? What am I? Slidikins, can't I govern you? What did I
marry you for? Am I not to be absolute and uncontrollable? Is it
fit a woman of my spirit and conduct should be contradicted in a
matter of this concern?