Mrs. Joyn. If you follow your mother's counsel, you are like to enjoy all you talk of sooner than by Dapperwit's assistance:—a poor wretch that goes on tick for the paper he writes his lampoons on, and the very ale and coffee that inspire him, as they say.
Mrs. Cros. I am credibly informed so, indeed, Madam Joyner.
Mrs. Joyn. Well, I have discharged my conscience; good morrow to you both. [Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.—Mrs. Crossbite's Dining-room.
Enter Dapperwit and Ranger.
Dap. This is the cabinet in which I hide my jewel; a small house, in an obscure, little, retired street, too.
Ran. Vulgarly, an alley.
Dap. Nay, I hide my mistress with as much care as a spark of the town does his money from his dun after a good hand at play; and nothing but you could have wrought upon me for a sight of her, let me perish.
Ran. My obligation to you is great; do not lessen it by delays of the favour you promised.
Dap. But do not censure my honour; for if you had not been in a desperate condition,—for as one nail must beat out another, one poison expel another, one fire draw out another, one fit of drinking cure the sickness of another,—so, the surfeit you took last night of Christina's eyes shall be cured by Lucy's this morning; or as—