Arch. I would marry you, but——
Cher. O, sweet sir, I'm your humble servant; you're fairly caught: Would you persuade me that any gentleman, who could bear the scandal of wearing a livery, would refuse two thousand pounds, let the condition be what it would?—No, no, sir; but I hope you'll pardon the freedom I have taken, since it was only to inform myself of the respect that I ought to pay you. [Going.
Arch. Fairly bit, by Jupiter!—Hold, hold! And have you actually two thousand pounds?
Cher. Sir, I have my secrets as well as you—when you please to be more open, I shall be more free; and, be assured, that I have discoveries that will match yours, be they what they will.—In the mean while, be satisfied that no discovery I make shall ever hurt you; but beware of my father——[Exit.
Arch. So—we're like to have as many adventures in our inn, as Don Quixotte had in his—Let me see—two thousand pounds! if the wench would promise to die when the money were spent, egad, one would marry her; but the fortune may go off in a year or two, and the wife may live—Lord knows how long! then an innkeeper's daughter; ay, that's the devil—there my pride brings me off.
| For whatsoe'er the sages charge on pride, |
| The angels' fall, and twenty faults beside, |
| On earth, I'm sure, 'mong us of mortal calling, |
| Pride saves man oft, and woman too, from falling. |
[Exit.