in--and then, my dearest Landlady--

_Land_. Wou'd this Wine might ne'er go through me, if I wou'd not go,
as they say, through Fire and Water--by Night or by Day for you.
[_She drinks_.

_Gay_. And as this is Wine I do believe thee. [_He drinks_.

_Land_. Well--you have no money in your Pocket now, I'll warrant you--
here--here's ten Shillings for you old _Greg'ry_ knows not of.
[_Opens a great greasy purse_.

_Gay_. I cannot in Conscience take it, good Faith, I cannot--besides,
the next Quarrel you'll hit me in the Teeth with it.

_Land_. Nay, pray no more of that; forget it, forget it. I own I was to
blame--here, Sir, you shall take it.

_Gay_. Ay,--but what shou'd I do with Money in these damn'd Breeches?
--No, put it up--I can't appear abroad thus--no, I'll stay at home, and
lose my business.

_Land_. Why, is there no way to redeem one of your Suits?

_Gay_. None--none--I'll e'en lay me down and die.

_Land_. Die--marry, Heavens forbid--I would not for the World--let me
see--hum--what does it lie for?

_Gay_. Alas! dear Landlady, a Sum--a Sum.

_Land_. Well, say no more, I'll lay about me.

_Gay_. By this kiss but you shall not--_Assafetida_, by this Light.

_Land_. Shall not? that's a good one, i'faith: shall you rule, or I?

_Gay_. But shou'd your Husband know it?--

_Land_. Husband--marry come up, Husbands know Wives secrets? No, sure,
the World's not so bad yet--where do your things lie? and for what?

_Gay_. Five Pounds equips me--_Rag_ can conduct you--but I say you shall
not go, I've sworn.

_Land_. Meddle with your matters--let me see, the Caudle Cup that
_Molly's_ Grandmother left her, will pawn for about that sum--I'll sneak
it out--well, Sir, you shall have your things presently--trouble not
your head, but expect me.

[_Ex_. Landlady _and_ Rag.

_Gay_. Was ever man put to such beastly shifts? 'Sdeath, how she stunk--
my senses are most luxuriously regal'd--there's my perpetual Musick too--

[_Knocking of Hammers on a Anvil_.

The ringing of Bells is an Ass to't.

_Enter_ Rag.

_Rag_. Sir, there's one in a Coach below wou'd speak to you.

_Gay_. With me, and in a Coach! who can it be?

_Rag_. The Devil, I think, for he has a strange Countenance.

_Gay_. The Devil! shew your self a Rascal of Parts, Sirrah, and wait on
him up