Piston.
Why, a hundred crowns.
Crier.
Why, then, I'll have ten for the crying of it.
Piston.
Ten crowns! and had but sixpence
For crying a little wench of thirty years old and upwards
That had lost herself betwixt a tavern and a baudy-house.
Crier.
Ay, that was a wench, and this is gold;
She was poor, but this is rich.
Piston.
Why, then, by this reck'ning, a hackney-man
Should have ten shillings for horsing a gentlewoman,
Where he hath but tenpence of a beggar.