Arch. Discovered! and without my consent?—What! have I embarked my small remains in the same bottom with yours, and you dispose of all without my partnership?
Aim. O, Archer, I own my fault.
Arch. After conviction—'tis then too late for pardon.—You may remember, Mr. Aimwell, that you proposed this folly—As you begun, so end it—Henceforth, I'll hunt my fortune single—so farewell.
Aim. Stay, my dear Archer, but a minute.
Arch. Stay! What, to be despised, exposed, and laughed at?—No, I would sooner change conditions with the worst of the rogues we just now bound, than bear one scornful smile from the proud knight, that once I treated as my equal.
Aim. What knight?
Arch. Sir Charles Freeman, brother to the lady that I had almost——But, no matter for that, 'tis a cursed night's work, and so I leave you to make the best on't.
Aim. Freeman!—One word, Archer—Still I have hopes; methought, she received my confession with pleasure.
Arch. 'Sdeath! who doubts it?
Aim. She consented after to the match; and still I dare believe she will be just.