_Gripe._ Why, mayhap----a shilling. _Brass._ A guinea, Sir, a guinea. You see by that how fond she was on't, by the bye. But then, Sir, her coach-hire; her chair-hire, her pin-money, her play-money, her china, and her charity----wou'd consume peers: A great soul, a very great soul! but what's the end of all this? _Gripe._ Ha! _Brass._ Why, I'll tell you what the end is----a nunnery. _Gripe._ A nunnery! _Brass._ A nunnery.----In short she is at last reduc'd to that extremity, and attack'd with such a battalion of duns, that rather than tell her husband (who you know is such a dog, he'd let her go if she did) she has e'en determin'd to turn papist, and bid the world adieu for life. _Gripe._ O terrible! a papist! _Brass._ Yes, when a handsome woman has brought herself into difficulties, the devil can't help her out of----To a nunnery, that's another rule, Sir. _Gripe._ But, but, but, pr'ythee _Brass_, but---- _Brass._ But all the buts in the world, Sir, won't stop her: she's a woman of a noble resolution. So, Sir, your humble servant; I pity her, I pity you. Turtle and mate; but the Fates will have it so, all's packt up, and I'm now going to call her a coach, for she resolves to slip off without saying a word: and the next visit she receives from her friends, will be through a melancholy grate, with a veil instead of a top-knot. [_Going._ _Gripe._ It must not be, by the Powers it must not; she was made for the world, and the world was made for her. _Brass._ And yet you see, Sir, how small a share she has on't. _Gripe._ Poor woman! Is there no way to save her? _Brass._ Save her! No, how can she be saved? why she owes above five hundred pounds. _Gripe._ Oh! _Brass._ Five hundred pounds, Sir; she's like to be sav'd indeed.----Not but that I know them in this town wou'd give me one of the five, if I wou'd persuade her to accept of th' other four: but she has forbid me mentioning it to any soul living; and I have disobey'd her only to you; and so--I'll go and call a coach. _Gripe._ Hold!----dost think, my poor _Brass_, one might not order it so, as to compound those debts for----for----twelve pence in the pound? _Brass._ Sir, d'ye hear? I have already try'd 'em with ten shillings, and not a rogue will prick up his ear at it. Tho' after all, for three hundred pounds all in glittering gold, I could set their chaps a watering. But where's that to be had with honour? there's the thing, Sir,----I'll go and call a coach. _Gripe._ Hold, once more: I have a note in my closet of two hundred, ay----and fifty, I'll go and give it her myself. _Brass._ You will; very genteel, truly. Go slap-dash, and offer a woman of her scruples, money! bolt in her face: Why, you might as well offer her a scorpion, and she'd as soon touch it. _Gripe._ Shall I carry it to her creditors then, and treat with them? _Brass._ Ay, that's a rare thought. _Gripe._ Is not it, _Brass_?