Plays, written by Sir John Vanbrugh, volume the second

by John Vanbrugh

Mar. So.

Char. So he offer'd to lay me a Lewis d'Or that I was not coming to you; so done, says I——Done, says he,——and so 'twas a bett, you know.

Mar. Certainly.

Char. So my sister's honour being concern'd, and having a mind to win his Lewis d'Or, d'ye see——I bid him follow me, that he might see whether I came in or no—but he said he'd wait for me at the little garden gate that opens into the fields, and if I would come thro' the house and meet him there, he should know by that whether I had been in or no.

Mar. Very well.

Char. So I went there, open'd the gate and let him in—

Mar. What then?

Char. Why then he paid me the Lewis d'Or, that's all.

Mar. Why, that was honestly done.

Char. And then he talk'd to me of you, and said you had the charmingest bubbies, and every time he nam'd 'em, ha! says he, as if he had been sipping hot tea.