Clar. O——if thou spar'st him, Brass, I'm thy enemy till I die.
Brass. 'Tis enough, Madam, I'll be sure to give you a reasonable account of him. But how do you intend we shall proceed, ladies? Must we storm the purse at once, or break ground in form, and carry it by little and little?
Clar. Storm, dear Brass, storm: ever whilst you live, storm.
Aram. O by all means; must it not be so, Flippanta?
Flip. In four and twenty hours, two hundred pounds a-piece, that's my sentence.
Brass. Very well. But, ladies, you'll give me leave to put you in mind of some little expence in favours, 'twill be necessary you are at, to these honest gentlemen.
Aram. Favours, Brass!
Brass. Um——a——some small matters, Madam, I doubt must be.
Clar. Now that's a vile article, Araminta; for that thing your husband is so like mine——