III.

 If a Cully we meet,
  We spend what we get
  Ev’ry Day, for the next never think,
  When we die, where we go,
  We have no Sense to know,
  For a Bawd always dies in drink.

Bett. [Aside to Shrimp.] Hark’e, Satan, where did you pick up this modest Youth; does he bleed?

Shr.  Oh! abundantly.

Bett.  That’s well, dress him up, and send him to Will’s Coffee-House and he’ll soon grow impudent. [To Tott.] My dear, eat this Orange, and gi’me Half a Crown.

Tott.  Half a Crown for an Orange!  I can buy one in the Country for two Pence.

Bett.  So you may in Town, lovely Swain, but ev’ry Smock I put upon my Back costs me nine Shillings an Ell.

Knap.  But tell us, Betty, what Intrigues are going forward, your publick Post brings you into a world of private Business, d’you know ever an amorous Lady that would present me with a hundred Guineas to oblige her?

Bett.  Thee, Child, Lord starve thee, a Foot Soldier! one o’the Infantry, a Lady that’s Fool enough to pay for her Pleasures, may provide her self better out o’ the Guards.—­Come, gi’me t’other Bumper, nothing’s to be got here, I find, and I must run.

Shr.  Why in such hast, Betty?

Bett.  Haste, Creature, why the Fourth Act is just done, and t’other bold Beast will run away with all the Money.

Knap.  Hark’e, Bess, don’t stroddle over Peoples Backs so as you us’d to do.

Bett.  Why, how now, Mr. Impudence, I think we do ’em too great an Honour, and whoever affronts me for it I’ll have him kick’d as soon as the Play’s over. [Exit.

Shr.  Come, my dear Boy, let’s tope it about briskly; what think you of this Lass? is she not frank and free?  If you had her in a Corner, she’d show you the way to Lyme-house.

Tott.  Are all your London Women like her?  Our Country Wenches are as Cross with treading upon Nettles; there’s Margery our Dairy-Maid, I only offer’d to feel her Bubbies, and she hit me a dowse o’the Jaws enough to beat down a Stack o’ Chimneys.

Shr.  We’ll carry you to a Lady, Master, that shall stifle you with Kindness, as pretty a piece of Wild-fowl as paddles about Covent Garden; but you’ll tip her a Guinea, her Lodgings are extremely fine; and you must know a first Floor comes very dear.

Knap.  She’s a Gentlewoman too, I’ll assure you, her Father was hang’d in Monmonth’s Time, wears as rich Cloaths as any Body, and never puts on the same Suit twice.

Tot.  O Gemini, I long to see her; pray, Mr. Knapsack, lets go; but what shall I treat her with, boil’d Fowls and Oysters.

Knap.  Something that’s very nice, she’s mighty dainty at Supper; but her constant Breakfast is a Red-Herring, and a quartern o’ Geneva. [Exeunt.