Arch. Robbed himself!
Foig. Ay, fait! and me too, of a hundred pounds.
Arch. Robbed you of a hundred pounds!
Foig. Yes, fait, honey, that I did owe to him.
Aim. Our money's gone, Frank!
Arch. Rot the money! my wench is gone.
Sir C. This good company meets opportunely in favour of a design I have in behalf of my unfortunate sister: I intend to part her from her husband. Gentlemen, will you assist me?
Arch. Assist you!—'Sdeath! who would not?
Foig. Ay, upon my shoul, we'll all ashist.
Enter Sullen.