Mrs. Joyn. A poor bashful girl, sir: I'm sorry she is not better taught.
Gripe. I am glad she is not taught; I'll teach her myself.
Lucy. Are you a dancing-master then, sir? But if I should be dull, and not move as you would have me, you would not beat me, sir, I hope?
Gripe. Beat thee, honeysuckle! I'll use thee thus, and thus, and thus. [Kisses her.] Ah, Mrs. Joyner, prithee go fetch our treat now.
Mrs. Joyn. A treat of a groat! I will not wag.
Gripe. Why don't you go? Here, take more money, and fetch what you will; take here, half-a-crown.
Mrs. Joyn. What will half-a-crown do?
Gripe. Take a crown then, an angel, a piece;[43]—begone!
Mrs. Joyn. A treat only will not serve my turn; I must buy the poor wretch there some toys.