Pounce. Well, though I am so much a conjurer—what then?
Cler. Sen. You know a certain person, into whose hands you now and then recommend a young heir, to be relieved from the vexation of tenants, taxes, and so forth——
Pounce. What! My worthy friend and city patron Hezekiah Tipkin, banker in Lombard Street; would the noble Captain lay any sums in his hands?
Cler. No; but the noble Captain would have treasure out of his hands. You know his niece?
Pounce. To my knowledge ten thousand pounds in money.
Cler. Such a stature, such a blooming countenance, so easy a shape!
Pounce. In jewels of her grandmother's five thousand.
Cler. Her wit so lively, her mien so alluring!
Pounce. In land a thousand a year.
Cler. Her lips have that certain prominence, that swelling softness that they invite to a pressure; her eyes that languish, that they give pain, though they look only inclined to rest; her whole person that one charm——