Lady D. Well, Sir Harry, and how d'ye like my daughter, pray?
Sir H. Like her, madam!—Harkye, will you take it?—Why, 'faith, madam—Take the money, I say, or, 'egad, all's out.
Ang. All shall out—Sir, you are a scandal to the name of gentleman.
Sir H. With all my heart, madam—In short, madam, your daughter has used me somewhat too familiarly, though I have treated her like a woman of quality.
Lady D. How, sir?
Sir H. Why, madam, I have offered her a hundred guineas.
Lady D. A hundred guineas! Upon what score?
Sir H. Upon what score! Lord, lord, how these old women love to hear bawdy!—Why, 'faith, madam, I have never a double entendre ready at present; but I suppose you know upon what score.
Ang. Hold, sir, stop your abusive tongue, too loose for modest ears to hear——Madam, I did before suspect, that his designs were base, now they're too plain; this knight, this mighty man of wit and humour, is made a tool to a knave—Vizard has sent him on a bully's errand, to affront a woman; but I scorn the abuse, and him that offered it.
Lady D. How, sir, come to affront us! D'ye know who we are, sir?