Sir Tim. I have other Matters in hand—now have I four hundred Guineas in Bank, which I won last Night of Bellmour, which I’ll make use of to debauch his Sister, with whom I’m damnably in love, and long for the return of my two Setting-dogs, to bring me News of the Game.
Enter Sham and Sharp.
Oh, are you come?
Sham. Ay, Sir, with News worth the hearing; I have been diligent, Sir, and got my self acquainted with the old Steward of the Family, an avaricious Judas, that will betray for Gold.
Sir Tim. And that we’ll furnish him with—his Master’s Gold, like all other mortal things, must return from whence it came.
Sharp. Not all, Sir; for Sham and I have dispos’d of part.
Sir Tim. Indeed you are a little shabby.
Sham. Ay, Sir, Fools were made to repair the Breaches of us that have Wit enough to manage ‘em.
Sir Tim. What—the Goldsmith paid the Money at sight, without demanding why?
Sharp. Readily, Sir—he’s a brave Fellow, and must not be lost so.