Set. She bids you then, at least, restore that gold, which she, too lavishly, poured out on you, unthankful man.
Lov. Faith, I have it not at present; 'tis all gone, as I am a sinner; but, 'tis gone wickedly; all spent in the devil her father's service.
Set. Where is the grateful sense of all your favours? Come, fiends, with flesh-hooks, tear the wretch in pieces, And bear his soul upon your leather wings, Below the fountain of the dark abyss.
Lov. What, are you a-conjuring? If you are good at that sport, I can conjure as well as you—[Draws his sword.
Const. Hold; for Heaven's sake, hold! I am no spirit; touch but my hand; ghosts have no flesh and blood. [Discovering.
Lov. My lady Constance! I began to suspect it might be a trick, but never could imagine you the author. It seems you are desirous I should father this hans en kelder here?
Const. I know not how, without a blush, to tell you, it was a cheat I practised for your love.
Set. A mere tympany, sir, raised by a cushion; you see 'tis gone already.
Const. Setstone was sent to have acquainted you; but, by the way, unfortunately missed you.
Lev. Twas you, then, that supplied me all this while with money? pretty familiar, I hope to make thee amends ere I sleep to-night. Come, parson, pr'ythee make haste and join us. I long to be out of her debt, poor rogue.