Count Bas. Hey day! why your blood begins to turn, my dear! the devil! you did not think I proposed to marry her myself!
Moth. If you don't, who the devil do you think will marry her?
Count Bas. Why, a fool——
Moth. Humph! there may be sense in that——
Count Bas. Very good——One for t'other then; if I can help her to a husband, why should not you come into my scheme of helping me to a wife?
Moth. Your pardon, Sir! ay! ay! in an honourable affair, you know you may command me——but pray where is this blessed wife and husband to be had?
Count Bas. Now have a little patience——You must know then, this country Knight, and his lady, bring up, in the coach with them, their eldest son and a daughter, to teach them to——wash their faces, and turn their toes out.
Moth. Good!
Count Bas. The son is an unlick'd whelp, about sixteen, just taken from school; and begins to hanker after every wench in the family: The daughter much of the same age, a pert, forward hussy, who having eight thousand pound left her by an old doating grandmother, seems to have a devilish mind to be doing in her way too.
Moth. And your design is to put her into business for life?