Mrs. Cros. Go, go, make haste—
Lucy. Oh! oh!—
Mrs. Cros. Poor wretch!—Go quickly.
Gripe. Hold! hold!—Thou young spawn of the old serpent! wicked, as I thought thee innocent! wilt thou say I would have ravished thee?
Lucy. I will swear you did ravish me.
Gripe. I thought so, treacherous Eve!—then I am gone, I must shift as well as I can.
Lucy. Oh! oh!—
Mrs. Cros. Will none of you call up the neighbours, and the authority of the alley?
Gripe. Hold, I'll give you twenty mark[44] among you to let me go.
Mrs. Cros. Villain! nothing shall buy thy life.