Dap. Hark you, widow, a little.
Mrs. Cros. What, have you mortgaged my daughter to that gentleman; and now would offer me a snip to join in the security!
Dap. [Aside.] She overhead me talk of a bargain;—'twas unlucky.—[Aloud.] Your wrath is grounded upon a mistake; Miss Lucy herself shall be judge; call her out, pray.
Mrs. Cros. She shall not; she will not come to you.
Dap. Till I hear it from her own mouth, I cannot believe it.
Mrs. Cros. You shall hear her say't through the door.
Dap. I shall doubt it unless she say it to my face.
Mrs. Cros. Shall we be troubled with you no more then?
Dap. If she command my death, I cannot disobey her.
Mrs. Cros. Come out, child.