_Gay_. You gutling Rascal, you are enough to breed a Famine in a Land. I have known some industrious Footmen, that have not only gotten their own Livings, but a pretty Livelihood for their Masters too. _Rag_. Ay, till they came to the Gallows, Sir. _Gay_. Very well, Sirrah, they died in an honourable Calling--but hark ye, _Rag_,--I have business, very earnest business abroad this Evening; now were you a Rascal of Docity, you wou’d invent a way to get home my last Suit that was laid in Lavender--with the Appurtenances thereunto belonging, as Perriwig, Cravat, and so forth. _Rag_. Faith, Master, I must deal in the black Art then, for no human means will do’t--and now I talk of the black Art, Master, try your Power once more with my Landlady. _Gay_. Oh! name her not, the thought on’t turns my Stomach--a sight of her is a Vomit; but he’s a bold Hero that dares venture on her for a kiss, and all beyond that sure is Hell it self--yet there’s my last, last Refuge--and I must to this Wedding--I know not what,--but something whispers me,--this Night I shall be happy--and without _Julia_ ’.is impossible! _Rag. Julia_, who’s that? my Lady _Fulbank_, Sir? _Gay_. Peace, Sirrah--and call--a--no--Pox on’t, come back--and yet--yes--call my fulsome Landlady. [_Exit_ Rag. Sir _Cautious_ knows me not by Name or Person. And I will to this Wedding, I’m sure of seeing _Julia_ there. And what may come of that--but here’s old Nasty coming. I smell her up--hah, my dear Landlady. _Enter _Rag_ and _Landlady. Quite out of breath--a Chair there for my Landlady. _Rag_. Here’s ne’er a one, Sir. _Land_. More of your Money and less of your Civility, good Mr. _Wasteall_. _Gay_. Dear Landlady-- _Land_. Dear me no Dears, Sir, but let me have my Money--Eight Weeks Rent last Friday; besides Taverns, Ale-houses, Chandlers, Landresses’ Scores, and ready Money out of my Purse; you know it, Sir. _Gay_. Ay, but your Husband don’t; speak softly. _Land_. My Husband! what, do you think to fright me with my Husband?-- I’d have you to know I’m an honest Woman, and care not this--for my Husband. Is this all the thanks I have for my kindness, for patching, borrowing and shifting for you; ‘twas but last Week I pawn’d my best Petticoat, as I hope to wear it again, it cost me six and twenty shillings besides Making; then this Morning my new _Norwich_ Mantua followed, and two postle Spoons, I had the whole dozen when you came first; but they dropt, and dropt, till I had only _Judas_ left for my Husband. _Gay_. Hear me, good Landlady. _Land_. Then I’ve past my word at the _George Tavern_, for forty Shillings for you, ten Shillings at my Neighbour _Squabs_ for Ale, besides seven Shillings to Mother _Suds_ for Washing; and do you fob me off with my Husband? _Gay_. Here, _Rag_, run and fetch her a Pint of Sack--there’s no other way of quenching the Fire in her flabber Chops. [_Exit_ Rag.