Stoc. Yes, Sir—I believe I can furnish you with as good Tickets as any one.
1 Buy. I suppose, Sir, ’tis all one to you what Number a Man fixes on.
Stoc. Any of my Numbers.
1 Buy. Because I would be glad to have it, Sir, the Number of my own Years, or my Wife’s; or, if I cou’d not have either of those, I wou’d be glad to have it the Number of my Mother’s.
Stoc. Ay, or suppose, now, it was the Number [1449, 1450] of your Grandmother’s?
1 Buy. No, no! She has no Luck in Lotteries: She had a whole Ticket once, and got but fifty Pounds by it.
Stoc. A very unfortunate Person, truly. Sir, my Clerk will furnish you, if you’ll walk that way up to the office. Ha, ha, ha!—There’s one 10,000l. got!—What an abundance of imaginary rich men will one month reduce to their former Poverty. [Knocking without.] Come in.
Enter 2 Buyer.
2 Buy. Does not your Worship let Horses, Sir?
Stoc. Ay, Friend.