Mrs. Cros. Bargain!—what, are you offering us to sale?
Dap. A pox! is't she?—Here take your comb again, then. [Returns the comb.
Mrs. Cros. Would you sell us? 'tis like you, y'fads.
Dap. Sell thee!—where should we find a chapman? Go, prithee, mother, call out my dear Miss Lucy.
Mrs. Cros. Your Miss Lucy! I do not wonder you have the conscience to bargain for us behind our backs, since you have the impudence to claim a propriety in us to my face.
Ran. How's this, Dapperwit?
Dap. Come, come, this gentleman will not think the worse of a woman for my acquaintance with her. He has seen me bring your daughter to the lure with a chiney-orange, from one side of the playhouse to the other.
Mrs. Cros. I would have the gentleman and you to know my daughter is a girl of reputation, though she has been seen in your company; but is now so sensible of her past danger, that she is resolved never more to venture her pitcher to the well, as they say.
Dap. How's that, widow? I wonder at your confidence.
Mrs. Cros. I wonder at your old impudence, that where you have had so frequent repulses you should provoke another, and bring your friend here to witness your disgrace.