Fail. O, one thing I had almost forgot to tell you; one of us two must ever be near Sir Timorous.
Burr. Why?
Fail. To guard our interest in him from the enemy, madam Isabella; who, I doubt, has designs upon him. I do not fear her wit, but her sex; she carries a prevailing argument about her.
Enter BIBBER with a Bottle.
Bib. By this hand, I have alight upon the best wine in your cousin's cellar; drink but one glass to me, to shew I am welcome, and I am gone.
Fail. Here then, honest Will; 'tis a cup of forbearance to thee.
Bib. Thank you, sir, I'll pledge you—now here's to you again.
Fail. Come away; what is't, Will?
Bib. 'Tis what you christened it, a cup of forbearance, sir.
Fail. Why, I drank that to thee, Will, that thou shouldst forbear thy money.