Sir Tim.  Hast thou? dear Sham, out with it.

Sham.  Why, Sir—­what think you of debauching his Sister?

Sir Tim.  Why, is there such a thing in Nature?

Sham.  You know he has a Sister, Sir.

Sir Tim.  Yes, rich, and fair.

Sham.  Both, or she were not worthy of your Revenge.

Sir Tim.  Oh, how I love Revenge, that has a double Pleasure in it—­and where—­and where is this fine piece of Temptation?

Sham.  In being, Sir—­but Sharp here, and I, have been at some cost in finding her out.

Sir Tim.  Ye shall be overpaid—­there’s Gold, my little Maquere—­but she’s very handsom?

Sharp.  As a Goddess, Sir.

Sir Tim.  And art thou sure she will be leud?

Sharp.  Are we sure she’s a Woman, Sir?—­Sure, she’s in her Teens, has Pride and Vanity—­and two or three Sins more that I cou’d name, all which never fail to assist a Woman in Debauchery—­But, Sir, there are certain People that belong to her, that must be consider’d too.

Sir Tim.  Stay, Sir, e’er I part with more Money, I’ll be certain what returns ’twill make me—­that is, I’ll see the Wench, not to inform my self, how well I like her, for that I shall do, because she is new, and Bellmour’s Sister—­but to find what possibility there is in gaining her.—­I am us’d to these things, and can guess from a Look, or a Kiss, or a Touch of the Hand—­but then I warrant, ’twill come to the knowledge of Betty Flauntit.

Sham.  What, Sir, then it seems you doubt us?

Sir Tim.  How do you mean, your Honesty or Judgment?  I can assure you,
I doubt both.

Sharp.  How, Sir, doubt our Honesty!

Sir Tim.  Yes—­why, I hope neither of you pretend to either, do you?

Sham.  Why, Sir, what, do you take us for Cheats?

Sir Tim.  As errant, as any’s in Christendom.

Sharp.  How, Sir?

Sir Tim.  Why, how now—­what, fly in my Face?  Are your Stomachs so queasy, that Cheat won’t down with you?

Sham.  Why, Sir, we are Gentlemen; and though our ill Fortunes have thrown us on your Bounty, we are not to be term’d—­

Sir Tim.  Why, you pair of Hectors—­whence this Impudence?—­Do ye know me, ye Raggamuffins?

Sham.  Yes, but we knew not that you were a Coward before.  You talkt big, and huft where-e’er you came, like an errant Bully; and so long we reverenc’d you—­but now we find you have need of our Courage, we’ll stand on our own Reputations.

Sir Tim.  Courage and Reputation!—­ha, ha, ha—­why, you lousy Tatterdemallions—­dare ye talk of Courage and Reputation?

Sharp.  Why, Sir, who dares question either?

Sir Tim.  He that dares try it. [Kicks ’em.