Mrs. Cross. Upon Condition, 'tis then, if I have no Beauty, you are no Slave; and the matter is just as 'twas.
Prais. Sharp, Sharp.—Charming Isabella, let me kiss the Strap of your Shoe, or the Tongue of your Buckle.
Mrs. Cross. Now have I such a mind to kick him i'th' Chops.— [Aside. Oh fye, Sir, What d'ye mean?
Calista. So, now he's got among the Players, I may hang my self for a Spark.
Mr. Pink. Prithee Johnson, who is that?
Mr. Johns. He belongs to one of the Inns of Chancery.
Mr. Pink. A Lawyer?
Mr. Johns. I can't say that of the Man neither, tho' he sweats hard in Term-time, and always is as much at Westminster, as he that has most to do.
Mr. Pink. Does he practice?
Mr. Johns. Walking there, much.