Coup. Who, trusty Lory, is it thee?
Lory. At your Service, Sir.
Coup. Give me thy Hand, old Boy; I'gad I did not know thee again; but I remember thy Honesty, tho' I did not thy Face; I think thou hadst like to have been hang'd once or twice for thy Master.
Lory. Sir, I was very near once having that Honour.
Coup. Well, live and hope; don't be discourag'd; eat with him, and drink with him, and do what he bids thee, and it may be thy Reward at last, as well as another's.
To Young Fash.] Well, Sir, you must know I have done you the Kindness to make up a Match for your Brother.
Young Fash. I am very much beholden to you, truly.
Coup. You may be, Sirrah, before the Wedding-day yet; the Lady is a great Heiress; fifteen hundred Pound a year, and a great Bag of Money; the Match is concluded, the Writings are drawn, and the Pipkin's to be crack'd in a Fortnight—Now you must know, Stripling (with Respect to your Mother), your Brother's the Son of a Whore.
Young Fash. Good.