ities have been strangely supplied: some Cadua or other has a
kindness for me, that's certain: [_Aside_.]--Well, Mons. Bibber,
from henceforward I'll keep my wit for more refined spirits; you shall
be paid with dirt;--there's money for you.

_Bib_. Nay, good sir.

_Lov_. What's your sum? tell it out: will the money burn your
fingers? Sirrah, boy, fetch my suit with the gold-lace at sleeves,
from tribulation.

[_Gives him gold. Exit Boy_.] Mr Taylor, I shall turn the better
bill-man[A], and knock that little coxcomb of yours, if you do not
answer me what I owe you.

[Footnote A: Alluding to the ancient weapon called the bill; a
never-failing source of puns in old plays.]

_Bib_. Pray, sir, trouble not yourself; 'tis nothing; i'feck now
'tis not.

_Lov_. How nothing, sir?

_Fran_. An't, please your worship, it was seventeen pounds and
a noble yesterday at noon, your worship knows: And then your worship
came home ill last night, and complained of your worship's head; and
I sent for three dishes of tea for your good worship, and that was six
pence more, and please your worship's honour.

_Lov_. Well; there's eighteen pieces, tell 'em.

_Bib_. I say, Frances, do not take 'em.

_Lov_, What, is all your pleading of necessity come to this?

_Bib_. Now I see he will pay, he shall not pay. Frances, go home,
and fetch him the whole bag of forty pounds; I'll lend it him, and the
lease of the house too; he shall want for nothing.

_Lov_. Take the money, or I'll leave your house.

_Bib_. Nay, rather than displease his worship, take it. [_She
takes it_.

_Lov_. So, so; go home quietly and suckle my godson, Frances.
[_Exit FRANCES_.

_Bib_. If you are for the cellar, sir, you know the way. [_Exit
BIBBER_.

_Lov_. No, my first visit shall be to my mistress, the Lady
Constance Nonsuch. She's discreet, and how the devil she comes to love
me, I know not; yet I am pretty confident she loves me. Well, no woman
can be wiser, than you-know-what will give her leave to be.

_Enter Lady CONSTANCE, and Madam ISABELLA_.

_Isa_. Look, look; is not that your servant Loveby?

_Lov_. Tis she; there's no being seen, 'till I am better habited.
[_Exit_ LOVEBY.

_Const_. Let him go, and take no notice of him: Poor rogue! he
little thinks I know his poverty.

_Isa_. And less, that you supply it by an unknown hand.

_Const_. Aye, and falsified my father's key to do it.

_Isa_. How can you answer this to your discretion?

_Co