Y. Lord W. Nay, 'tis no matter where she is now. She'll scarce be worth a thousand pound, and that's but a tailor's prize.[399]
Hog. Then you'll not have her, sir?
Y. Lord W. No, as I hope to live in peace.
Hog. Why, be't so, be't so; confusion cannot come in a fitter time on all of us. O bountiful Crœsus! how fine thy shadow hath devoured my substance!
P. Ser. Good my lord, promise him to marry his daughter, or he will be mad presently, though you never intend to have her.
Y. Lord W. Well, father Hog, though you are undone, your daughter shall not be, so long as a lord can stand her in any stead. Come, you shall with me to my lord and father, whose warrants we will have for the apprehending of all suspicious livers; and, though the labour be infinite, you must consider your loss is so.
Hog. Come, I'll do anything to gain my gold.
P. Ser. Till which be had, my fare will be but cold.
[Exeunt.
Enter Haddit, Rebecca, Lightfoot, and Priest.