Flaunt. Thou art mistaken, Driver, I can keep him within no moderate Bounds without Blows; but for his filthy Custom of Wenching, I have almost broke him of that—but prithee, Driver, who are these Gentlemen?
Driv. Truly, I know not; but they are young, and fine as Princes: two of ‘em were disguis’d in masking Habits last Night, but they have sent ’.m away this Morning, and they are free as Emperors—One of ‘em has lost a Thousand Pound at Play, and never repin’d at it; one’s a Knight, and I believe his Courage is cool’d, for he has ferreted my Maids over and over to Night—But ‘tis the fine, young, handsom Squire that I design you for.
Flaunt. No matter for his Handsomness, let me have him that has most Money.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. Another Chamber in the Brothel, a Table with Box and Dice.
Enter Bellmour, Sir Timothy, Sham and Sharp.
Bel. Damn it, give us more Wine. [Drinks. Where stands the Box and Dice?—Why, Sham.
Sham. Faith, Sir, Your Luck’s so bad, I han’t the Conscience to play longer—Sir Timothy and you play off a hundred Guineas, and see if Luck will turn.
Bel. Do you take me for a Country Squire, whose Reputation will be crackt at the loss of a petty Thousand? You have my Note for it to my Goldsmith.
Sham. ‘Tis sufficient if it were for ten thousand.