Limb. Yes, I was such a fool, to swear so.

Aldo. And will you have that dreadful oath lie gnawing on your conscience?

Trick. Let him be damned; and so farewell for ever.—­[Going.]

Limb. Pug!

Trick. Did you call, Mr Limberham?

Limb. It may be, ay; it may be, no.

Trick. Well, I am going to the nunnery; but, to shew I am in charity, I’ll pray for you.

Aldo. Pray for him! fy, daughter, fy; is that an answer for a Christian?

Limb. What did Pug say? will she pray for me?  Well, to shew I am in charity, she shall not pray for me.  Come back, Pug.  But did I ever think thou couldst have been so unkind to have parted with me?
          
                                                   [Cries.

Aldo. Look you, daughter, see how nature works in him.

Limb. I’ll settle two hundred a-year upon thee, because thou said’st thou would’st pray for me.

Aldo. Before George, son Limberham, you will spoil all, if you underbid so.  Come, down with your dust, man:  What, shew a base mind, when a fair lady’s in question!

Limb. Well, if I must give three hundred—­

Trick. No, it is no matter; my thoughts are on a better place.

Aldo. Come, there is no better place than little London.  You shall not part for a trifle.  What, son Limberham! four hundred a year is a square sum, and you shall give it.

Limb. It is a round sum indeed; I wish a three-cornered sum would have served her turn.—­Why should you be so pervicacious now, Pug?  Pray take three hundred.  Nay, rather than part, Pug, it shall be so.—­ [She frowns.]

Aldo. It shall be so, it shall be so:  Come, now buss, and seal the bargain.

Trick. [Kissing him.] You see what a good natured fool I am, Mr Limberham, to come back into a wicked world, for love of you.—­You will see the writings drawn, father?

Aldo. Ay; and pay the lawyer too.  Why, this is as it should be!  I’ll be at the charge of the reconciling supper.—­[To her aside.] Daughter, my son Woodall is waiting for you.—­Come away, son Limberham to the temple.

Limb. With all my heart, while she is in a good humour:  It would cost me another hundred, if I should stay till Pug were in wrath again.  Adieu, sweet Pug.—­[Exeunt ALDO, and LIMB.]

Trick. That he should be so silly to imagine I would go into a nunnery! it is likely; I have much nun’s flesh about me.  But here comes my gentleman.

  Enter WOODALL, not seeing her.

Wood. Now the wife’s returned, and the daughter too, and I have seen them both, and am more distracted than before:  I would enjoy all, and have not yet determined with which I should begin.  It is but a kind of clergy-covetousness in me, to desire so many; if I stand gaping after pluralities, one of them is in danger to be made a sine cure—­[Sees her.] O, fortune has determined for me.  It is just here, as it is in the world; the mistress will be served before the wife.