Brass. Sir, d'ye hear? I have already try'd 'em with ten shillings, and not a rogue will prick up his ear at it. Tho' after all, for three hundred pounds all in glittering gold, I could set their chaps a watering. But where's that to be had with honour? there's the thing, Sir,——I'll go and call a coach.
Gripe. Hold, once more: I have a note in my closet of two hundred, ay——and fifty, I'll go and give it her myself.
Brass. You will; very genteel, truly. Go slap-dash, and offer a woman of her scruples, money! bolt in her face: Why, you might as well offer her a scorpion, and she'd as soon touch it.
Gripe. Shall I carry it to her creditors then, and treat with them?
Brass. Ay, that's a rare thought.
Gripe. Is not it, Brass?
Brass. Only one little inconvenience by the way.
Gripe. As how?
Brass. That they are your wife's creditors as well as hers; and perhaps it might not be altogether so well to see you clearing the debts of your neighbour's wife, and leaving those of your own unpaid.