MAGGIE. You will pay my man, Will Mossop, the same wages as before. And as for me, I've given you the better part of twenty years of work without wages. I'll work eight hours a day in future and you will pay me fifteen shillings by the week.
HOBSON. Do you think I'm made of brass?
MAGGIE. You'll soon be made of less than you are if you let Willie go. And if Willie goes, I go. That's what you've got to face.
HOBSON. I might face it, Maggie. Shop hands are cheap.
MAGGIE. Cheap ones are cheap. The sort you'd have to watch all day, and you'd feel happy helping them to tie up parcels and sell laces with Tudsbury and Heeler and Minns supping their ale without you. I'm value to you, so's my man; and you can boast it at the "Moonraker's" that your daughter Maggie's made the strangest, finest match a woman's made this fifty year. And you can put your hand in your pocket and do what I propose.
HOBSON. I'll show you what I propose, Maggie. (He lifts trap and calls.) Will Mossop! (He places hat on counter and unbuckles belt.) I cannot leather you, my lass. You're female, and exempt, but I can leather him. Come up, Will Mossop.
(WILL comes up trap and closes it.)
You've taken up with my Maggie, I hear. (He conceals strap.)
WILLIE. Nay, I've not. She's done the taking up.
HOBSON. Well, Willie, either way, you've fallen on misfortune. Love's led you astray, and I feel bound to put you right. (Shows strap.)