_Lov_. Sure this fellow, whoe'er he was, was sent by Fortune to mistake me into so much money.--Well, this is not the first time my necessities have been strangely supplied: some Cadua or other has a kindness for me, that's certain: [_Aside_.]--Well, Mons. Bibber, from henceforward I'll keep my wit for more refined spirits; you shall be paid with dirt;--there's money for you. _Bib_. Nay, good sir. _Lov_. What's your sum? tell it out: will the money burn your fingers? Sirrah, boy, fetch my suit with the gold-lace at sleeves, from tribulation. [_Gives him gold. Exit Boy_.] Mr Taylor, I shall turn the better bill-man[A], and knock that little coxcomb of yours, if you do not answer me what I owe you. [Footnote A: Alluding to the ancient weapon called the bill; a never-failing source of puns in old plays.] _Bib_. Pray, sir, trouble not yourself; 'tis nothing; i'feck now 'tis not. _Lov_. How nothing, sir? _Fran_. An't, please your worship, it was seventeen pounds and a noble yesterday at noon, your worship knows: And then your worship came home ill last night, and complained of your worship's head; and I sent for three dishes of tea for your good worship, and that was six pence more, and please your worship's honour. _Lov_. Well; there's eighteen pieces, tell 'em. _Bib_. I say, Frances, do not take 'em. _Lov_, What, is all your pleading of necessity come to this? _Bib_. Now I see he will pay, he shall not pay. Frances, go home, and fetch him the whole bag of forty pounds; I'll lend it him, and the lease of the house too; he shall want for nothing. _Lov_. Take the money, or I'll leave your house. _Bib_. Nay, rather than displease his worship, take it. [_She takes it_. _Lov_. So, so; go home quietly and suckle my godson, Frances. [_Exit FRANCES_. _Bib_. If you are for the cellar, sir, you know the way. [_Exit BIBBER_. _Lov_. No, my first visit shall be to my mistress, the Lady Constance Nonsuch. She's discreet, and how the devil she comes to love me, I know not; yet I am pretty confident she loves me. Well, no woman can be wiser, than you-know-what will give her leave to be. _Enter Lady CONSTANCE, and Madam ISABELLA_. _Isa_. Look, look; is not that your servant Loveby? _Lov_. Tis she; there's no being seen, 'till I am better habited. [_Exit_ LOVEBY. _Const_. Let him go, and take no notice of him: Poor rogue! he little thinks I know his poverty. _Isa_. And less, that you supply it by an unknown hand. _Const_. Aye, and falsified my father's key to do it. _Isa_. How can you answer this to your discretion? _Const_. Who could see him want, she loves? _Enter SETSTONE_. _Isa_. O here's Mr Setstone come, your jeweller, madam. _Const_. Welcome, Setstone; hast thou performed thy visit happily, and without discovery?