Don. What, the old folks her friends are wary, and cannot agree with you so soon as the daughter can?
Ger. Yes, sir, the father hinders it a little at present; but the daughter, I hope, is resolved, and then we shall do well enough.
Don. What! you do not steal her, according to the laudable custom of some of your brother dancing-masters?
Ger. No, no, sir; steal her, sir! steal her! you are pleased to be merry, sir, ha! ha! ha!—[Aside.] I cannot but laugh at that question.
Don. No, sir, methinks you are pleased to be merry, but you say the father does not consent?
Ger. Not yet, sir; but 'twill be no matter whether he does or no.
Don. Was she one of your scholars? if she were, 'tis a hundred to ten but you steal her.
Ger. [Aside.] I shall not be able to hold laughing. [Laughs.
Don. Nay, nay, I find by your laughing you steal her: she was your scholar; was she not?
Ger. Yes, sir, she was the first I ever had, and may be the last too; for she has a fortune (if I can get her) will keep me from teaching to dance any more.