Wat. Ha! God bless your Honour; I should be as willing to trust you, Master, but that you are, as a Man may say, a Stranger to me, and these are nimble Times; there are a great many Sharpers stirring. [Taking up the Portmanteau.] Well, Master, when your Worship sends the Money, your Portmanteau shall be forthcoming. My Name's Tugg, my Wife keeps a Brandy-Shop in Drab-Ally at Wapping.
Young Fash. Very well; I'll send for't to-morrow.
[Exit Wat.
Lory. So—Now, Sir, I hope you'll own yourself a happy Man, you have outliv'd all your Cares.
Young Fash. How so, Sir?
Lory. Why you have nothing left to take care of.
Young Fash. Yes, Sirrah, I have myself and you to take care of still.
Lory. Sir, if you cou'd but prevail with somebody else to do that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better for't.
Young Fash. Why, if thou canst tell me where to apply myself, I have at present so little Money, and so much Humility about me, I don't know but I may follow a Fool's Advice.
Lory. Why then, Sir, your Fool advises you to lay aside all Animosity, and apply to Sir Novelty, your elder Brother.