Pris. Not a Bawbee, Sir.
Old K. How? bate ten pound? what's the whole sum then?
Witty. Faith Sir, a hundred pound, with much adoe,
I got fifty bated, and faith Father, to say truth,
'Tis reasonable for men of their fashion.
Old K. La, la, la, down, a hunder'd pound? la, la, la,
You are a Consort of Thieves, are you not?
Witty. No Musicians, Sir, I told you before.
Old K. Fiddle faddle, is it not a robbery? a plain robbery.
Witty. No, no, no, by no means Father, you have receiv'd
For your money, nay and that you cannot give back,
'Tis somewhat dear I confess, but who can help it?
If they had been agreed with before-hand,
'Twas ill forgotten.
Old [K]. And how many shares have you in this? I see my force,
Case up your instruments, I yield, here, as robb'd and
Taken from me, I deliver it.
Witty. No Sir, you have perform'd your promise now,
Which was, to pay the charge of Musick, that's all.
Old K. I have heard no Musick, I have receiv'd none, Sir,
There's none to be found in me, nor about me.