Land. But stay, Mrs. Crossbite, let me talk with you.
Lucy. Oh! oh!—
Land. Come, sir, I am your friend:—in a word, I have appeased her, and she shall be contented with a little sum.
Gripe. What is it? what is it?
Land. But five hundred pounds.
Gripe. But five hundred pounds!—hang me then, hang me rather.
Land. You will say I have been your friend.
Pren. The constable and neighbours are a-coming.
Gripe. How, how; will you not take a hundred? pray use conscience in your ways. [Kneels to Mrs. Crossbite.
Mrs. Cros. I scorn your money! I will not take a thousand.