SIR WILFULL, drunk, LADY WISHFORT, WITWOUD, MRS. MILLAMANT, MRS. FAINALL.
LADY. Out upon't, out upon't, at years of discretion, and comport yourself at this rantipole rate!
SIR WIL. No offence, aunt.
LADY. Offence? As I'm a person, I'm ashamed of you. Fogh! How you stink of wine! D'ye think my niece will ever endure such a Borachio? You're an absolute Borachio.
SIR WIL. Borachio?
LADY. At a time when you should commence an amour, and put your best foot foremost -
SIR WIL. 'Sheart, an you grutch me your liquor, make a bill. — Give me more drink, and take my purse. [Sings]:-
Prithee fill me the glass,
Till it laugh in my face,
With ale that is potent and mellow;
He that whines for a lass
Is an ignorant ass,
For a bumper has not its fellow.
But if you would have me marry my cousin, say the word, and I'll do't. Wilfull will do't, that's the word. Wilfull will do't, that's my crest, — my motto I have forgot.
LADY. My nephew's a little overtaken, cousin, but 'tis drinking your health. O' my word, you are obliged to him -
SIR WIL. IN VINO VERITAS, aunt. If I drunk your health to-day, cousin, — I am a Borachio. — But if you have a mind to be married, say the word and send for the piper; Wilfull will do't. If not, dust it away, and let's have t'other round. Tony — ods-heart, where's Tony?- -Tony's an honest fellow, but he spits after a bumper, and that's a fault.
We'll drink and we'll never ha' done, boys,
Put the glass then around with the sun, boys,
Let Apollo's example invite us;
For he's drunk every night,
And that makes him so bright,
That he's able next morning to light us.
The sun's a good pimple, an honest soaker, he has a cellar at your antipodes. If I travel, aunt, I touch at your antipodes — your antipodes are a good rascally sort of topsy-turvy fellows. If I had a bumper I'd stand upon my head and drink a health to 'em. A match or no match, cousin with the hard name; aunt, Wilfull will do't. If she has her maidenhead let her look to 't; if she has not, let her keep her own counsel in the meantime, and cry out at the nine months' end.
MILLA. Your pardon, madam, I can stay no longer. Sir Wilfull grows very powerful. Egh! how he smells! I shall be overcome if I stay. Come, cousin.