Sharp. Ay, ay, Sir: But the Devil a Maid we saw. [Aside.
Sham. Sir, it may be Things have so fallen out, that she could not possibly come.
Sir Tim. Things! a Pox of your Tricks—Well, I see there’s no trusting a poor Devil—Well, what Device will your Rogueship find out to cheat me next?
Sham. Prithee help me out at a dead lift, Sharp. [Aside.
Sharp. Cheat you, Sir!—if I ben’t reveng’d on this She-Counsellor of the Patching and Painting, this Letter-in of Midnight Lovers, this Receiver of Bribes for stol’n Pleasures; may I be condemn’d never to make love to any thing of higher Quality.
Sir Tim. Nay, nay, no threatning, Sharp; it may be she’s innocent yet—Give her t’other Bribe, and try what that will do. [Gives him Money.
Sham. No, Sir, I’ll have no more to do with frail Woman, in this Case; I have a surer way to do your Business.
Enter Page with a Letter.
Sir Tim. Is not that Bellmour’s Page?
Sharp. It is, Sir.