Ger. I wish I could. [Sighs.
Hip. Come, now I find 'tis your turn to dissemble:—but men use to dissemble for money; will you dissemble for nothing?
Ger. 'Tis too late for me to dissemble.
Hip. Don't you dissemble, faith?
Ger. Nay, this is too cruel.
Hip. What! would you take me without the twelve hundred pounds a-year? would you be such a fool as to steal a woman with nothing?
Ger. I'll convince you; for you shall go with me:—and since you are twelve hundred pounds a-year the lighter, you'll be the easier carried away. [He takes her in his arms, she struggles.
Prue. What! he takes her way against her will:—I find I must knock for my master then. [She knocks.
Re-enter Don Diego and Mrs. Caution.
Hip. My father! my father is here!