Prisc. Near upon thirteen pound.
Lady. A goodly share,
'Twill put a Lady scarce in Philip and Cheyney,
With three small Bugle Laces, like a Chambermaid,
Here's precious lifting.
Pris. 'Las you must consider, Lady,
'Tis but young Term, Attornies ha small doings yet,
Then Highway Lawyers, they must needs ha little,
We'ave had no great good luck to speak troth, Beauty,
Since your stout Ladyship parted from's at Highgate,
But there's a fair hope now for a present hunder'd,
Here's mans Apparel, your Horse stands at door.
Lady. And what's the virtuous plot now?
Prisc. Marry Lady,
You, like a brave young Gallant must be robb'd.
Lady. I robb'd?
Pris. Nay then—
Lady. Well, well, go on, let's hear Sir.
Pris. Here's a seal'd bag of a Hunder'd, which indeed
Are Counters all, only some sixteen Groats
Of white money i'th' mouth on't.
Lady. So, what Saddle have I?