Fash. Why, then, did you make all this bustle about Amanda?

Lord Fop. Because she’s a woman of insolent virtue, and I thought myself piqued, in honour, to debauch her.

Fash. Very well.—[Aside.] Here’s a rare fellow for you, to have the spending of ten thousand pounds a year! But now for my business with him.—[Aloud.] Brother, though I know to talk of any business (especially of money) is a theme not quite so entertaining to you as that of the ladies, my necessities are such, I hope you’ll have patience to hear me.

Lord Fop. The greatness of your necessities, Tam, is the worst argument in the waurld for your being patiently heard. I do believe you are going to make a very good speech, but, strike me dumb! it has the worst beginning of any speech I have heard this twelvemonth.

Fash. I’m sorry you think so.

Lord Fop. I do believe thou art: but, come, let’s know the affair quickly.

Fash. Why, then, my case, in a word, is this: the necessary expenses of my travels have so much exceeded the wretched the wretched income of my annuity, that I have been forced to mortgage it for five hundred pounds, which is spent. So, unless you are so kind as to assist me in redeeming it, I know no remedy but to take a purse.

Lord Fop. Why, faith, Tam, to give you my sense of the thing, I do think taking a purse the best remedy in the waurld; for if you succeed, you are relieved that way, if you are taken [Drawing his hand round his neck], you are relieved t’other.

Fash. I’m glad to see you are in so pleasant a humour; I hope I shall find the effects on’t.

Lord Fop. Why, do you then really think it a reasonable thing, that I should give you five-hundred paunds?

Fash. I do not ask it as a due, brother; I am willing to receive it as a favour.

Lord Fop. Then thou art willing to receive it anyhow, strike me speechless! But these are damned times to give money in; taxes are so great, repairs so exorbitant, tenants such rogues, and bouquets so dear, that, the devil take me, I am reduced to that extremity in my cash, I have been forced to retrench in that one article of sweet pawder, till I have brought it down to five guineas a maunth—now judge, Tam, whether I can spare you five hundred paunds.

Fash. If you can’t, I must starve, that’s all.—[Aside.] Damn him!

Lord Fop. All I can say is, you should have been a better husband.

Fash. Ouns! if you can’t live upon ten thousand a year, how do you think I should do’t upon two hundred?

Lord Fop. Don’t be in a passion, Tam, for passion is the most unbecoming thing in the waurld—to the face. Look you, I don’t love to say anything to you to make you melancholy, but upon this occasion I must take leave to put you in mind that a running horse does require more attendance than a coach- horse. Nature has made some difference twixt you and me.

Fash. Yes—she has made you older.—[Aside.] Plague take her.

Lord Fop. That is not all, Tam.

Fash. Why, what is there else?

  By PanEris using Melati.

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