language, to have some pity upon his unfortunate master. He throws himself so heartily into his commission, that the Carthaginian listens to his rapturous expressions with dismay, and at last can endure it no longer. He rushes forward, and seizes his ambassador by the collar, wholly regardless of the presence of the lady and her sister, who look on with much amusement.
Agorastocles. Now am I not worth purchase at three farthings,
If I don't break that scoundrel's head.—Come here, sir!
(seizes Milphio.)
There's for your "sweets,"—and "dears,"—and "pretty
darlings"—(beats him at each word).
Here's "heart's delight" and "lovely charmer" for you!
(beats him again.)
Milphio. Oh, master, master! it's rank sacrilege!
You're beating an ambassador!
Agor. I'll beat him
More yet.—"Kiss her all day," sir, could you?
I daresay! (striking him again.) "Nestling of your bosom," is she?
Mil. (roaring and rubbing his shoulders). Oh! that's enough!
Agor. Was that the fashion, sirrah,
In which I meant you to address the lady?
Mil. Why, what was I to say, then?
Agor. Say, you rascal?
Why, this—"Light of my master's eyes—queen of his soul—
Breath of his life—joy of his heart,"—and so on:
Instead of that, sir, in your cursed impudence,
You've been calling her your darling all the time!
Mil. Oh! now I see! (goes up to Adelphasium, and
begins again.)
