Sir Tim.  Ay, that’s it that appeases her highest Storms—­here, my
Jewel, here’s a hundred Guineas to buy thee fine things.

Flaunt.  Yes, great store of fine things indeed, with this pitiful Sum; let me feel in your Pockets, and see if you have no more.
                                         [She feels in his Pockets.

Sir Tim.  So, ’twas well I laid by the rest, my Peace had not been Made under every Rag on’t else; and what I was painfully cheating for All this Night, would have been laid out at the Mercers and Lacemans in half an Hour.  —­Well, are you satisfy’d I have no more?

Flaunt.  Have you sunk none indeed and indeed, my Timmy?

Sir Tim.  No, I need not, you sink mine fast enough, I thank ye.
          
                                                 [Aside.

Flaunt.  Well, get your self ready to go abroad with me.

[Exit Flaunt.

Sir Tim.  I have other Matters in hand—­now have I four hundred Guineas in Bank, which I won last Night of Bellmour, which I’ll make use of to debauch his Sister, with whom I’m damnably in love, and long for the return of my two Setting-dogs, to bring me News of the Game.

    Enter Sham and Sharp.

Oh, are you come?

Sham.  Ay, Sir, with News worth the hearing; I have been diligent, Sir, and got my self acquainted with the old Steward of the Family, an avaricious Judas, that will betray for Gold.

Sir Tim.  And that we’ll furnish him with—­his Master’s Gold, like all other mortal things, must return from whence it came.

Sharp.  Not all, Sir; for Sham and I have dispos’d of part.

Sir Tim.  Indeed you are a little shabby.

Sham.  Ay, Sir, Fools were made to repair the Breaches of us that have Wit enough to manage ’em.

Sir Tim.  What—­the Goldsmith paid the Money at sight, without demanding why?

Sharp.  Readily, Sir—­he’s a brave Fellow, and must not be lost so.

Sham.  By no means, we must make use of him whilst he is hot; for I doubt the Humour is not natural, and I fear he may cool.

Sir Tim.  But to our Business.

Sharp.  Ay, Sir, this same Sister of his you must have; if it be but to put this insolent Whore Flauntit out of favour, who manages this Fop intirely. [Aside.

Sir Tim.  Ay, but art thou sure there is no danger in this Enterprize?  Shall I not have my Throat cut? and the rest.

Sham.  We have none of that Italian Humour now-a-days, I can assure ye; they will sooner, with a brotherly kindness, assist the yielding Sister to the willing Gallant.

Sir Tim.  A good thriving Inclination, by Fortune.

Sham.  And, Sir, you have all Encouragement; her Brother, you heard, refus’d to pay her Portion, and you know the Fate of a handsom young Wench in this Town, that relies on weak Virtue—­Then because she is in The House with her Uncle, this same Steward has contriv’d matters so, to bring you in at the Back-door, her Lodgings being in the Garden.