NIC. Well, what? (NICOLE _gives him several thrusts_)
MR. JOUR. Gently! Hold! Oh! Softly. Deuce take the wench!
NIC: You tell me to thrust at you.
MR. JOUR. Yes; but you thrust in tierce before thrusting at me in
quart, and you haven't the patience to wait till I parry.
MRS: JOUR. You are crazy, husband, with all your fads; and this has
come upon you since you have taken it into your head to frequent the
gentlefolk.
MR. JOUR. By frequenting the gentlefolk I show my judgment. It is
surely better than keeping company with your citizens.
MRS. JOUR. Yes: there is much good to be got by frequenting your
nobility, and you have done a noble stroke of business with that fine
count with whom you are so wrapped up.
MR. JOUR. Peace. Be careful what you say. Let me tell you, wife, that
you do not know of whom you are speaking when you speak of him! He is
a man of more importance than you can imagine, a nobleman who is held
in great honour at court, and who speaks to the king just as I speak
to you. Is it not a thing which does me great honour that such a
person should be seen so often in my house, should call me his dear
friend, and should treat me as if I were his equal? He has more
kindness for me than you could ever guess, and he treats me before the
world with such affection that I am perfectly ashamed.
MRS.
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