Arch. [aside]. ‘Sdeath, what shall I do?—[Aloud.] But hark’ee, child, what need you make me master of yourself and money, when you may have the same pleasure out of me, and still keep your fortune in your hands?

Cher. Then you won’t marry me?

Arch. I would marry you, but—

Cher. O sweet sir, I’m your humble servant, you’re fairly caught! Would you persuade me that any gentleman who could bear the scandal of wearing a livery would refuse two thousand pounds, let the condition be what it would? no, no, sir. But I hope you’ll pardon the freedom I have taken, since it was only to inform myself of the respect that I ought to pay you. [Going.

Arch. [aside]. Fairly bit, by Jupiter!—[Aloud.] Hold! hold!—And have you actually two thousand pounds?

Cher. Sir, I have my secrets as well as you; when you please to be more open I shall be more free, and be assured that I have discoveries that will match yours, be what they will. In the meanwhile, be satisfied that no discovery I make shall ever hurt you, but beware of my father!

[Exit.

Arch. So! we’re like to have as many adventures in our inn as Don Quixote had in his. Let me see—two thousand pounds—if the wench would promise to die when the money were spent, egad, one would marry her; but the fortune may go off in a year or two, and the wife may live—Lord knows how long. Then an innkeeper’s daughter! ay, that’s the devil—there my pride brings me off.

[Exit.