Aldo. No deferring in these cases, daughter.
Trick. But I have lost the keys.
Limb. That's a jest! let me feel in thy pocket, for I must oblige thee.
Trick. You shall feel no where: I have felt already and am sure they are lost.
Aldo. But feel again, the lawyer stays.
Trick. Well, to satisfy you, I will feel.—They are not here—nor here neither.
[She pulls out her handkerchief, and the keys drop after it: Limberham takes them up.
Limb. Look you now, Pug! who's in the right? Well, thou art born to be a lucky Pug, in spite of thyself.
Trick [Aside.] O, I am ruined!—One word, I beseech you, father Aldo.
Aldo. Not a syllable. What the devil's in you, daughter? Open, son, open.
Trick. [Aloud.] It shall not be opened; I will have my will, though I lose my settlement. Would I were within the chest! I would hold it down, to spite you. I say again, would I were within the chest, I would hold it so fast, you should not open it.—The best on't is, there's good inkle on the top of the inside, if he have the wit to lay hold on't.
[Aside.