Young Fash. I'm very sorry you think so.
Lord Fop. I do believe thou art. But come, let's know thy Affair quickly; for 'tis a new Play, and I shall be so rumpled and squeezed with pressing thro' the Crawd, to get to my Servant, the Women will think I have lain all Night in my Clothes.
Young Fash. Why then (that I may not be the Author of so great a Misfortune) my Case in a Word is this: The necessary Expences of my Travels have so much exceeded the wretched Income of my Annuity, that I have been forced to mortgage it for Five Hundred Pounds, which is spent; so that unless you are so kind to assist me in redeeming it, I know no Remedy but to take a Purse.
Lord Fop. Why, Faith, Tam——to give you my Sense of the thing, I do think taking a Purse the best Remedy in the Warld; for if you succeed, you are reliev'd that way; if you are taken——you are reliev'd t'other.
Young Fash. I'm glad to see you are in so pleasant a Humour, I hope I shall find the Effects on't.
Lord Fop. Why, do you then really think it a reasonable thing I should give you Five Hundred Paunds?
Young Fash. I do not ask it as a Due, Brother, I am willing to receive it as a Favour.
Lord Fop. Thau art willing to receive it any haw, strike me speechless. But these are damn'd times to give Money in: Taxes are so great, Repairs so exorbitant, Tenants such Rogues, and Perriwigs so dear, that the Devil take me, I'm reduc'd to that extremity in my Cash, I have been farc'd to retrench in that one Article of sweet Pawder, till I have braught it dawn to Five Guineas a Manth. Naw judge, Tam, whether I can spare you Five hundred Paunds?
Young Fash. If you can't, I must starve, that's all, [Aside.] Damn him.