Sir Charles Mountford. Dost love me, sister? wouldst thou see me live A bankrupt beggar in the world’s disgrace, And die indebted to my enemies? Wouldst thou behold me stand like a huge beam In the world’s eye, a bye-word and a scorn? It lies in thee of these to acquit me free, And all my debt I may out-strip by thee. Susan. By me! why, I have nothing, nothing left; I owe even for the clothes upon my back; I am not worth---- Sir Charles Mountford. O sister, say not so; It lies in you my downcast state to raise, To make me stand on even points with the world. Come, sister, you are rich; indeed you are; And in your power you have, without delay, Acton’s five hundred pound back to repay. Susan. Till now I had thought you had loved me. By my honour (Which I have kept as spotless as the moon), I ne’er was mistress of that single doit Which I reserved not to supply your wants; And do you think that I would hoard from you? Now, by my hopes in Heaven, knew I the means To buy you from the slavery of your debts (Especially from Acton, whom I hate), I would redeem it with my life or blood. Sir Charles Mountford. I challenge it; and, kindred set apart, Thus, ruffian-like, I lay siege to your heart. What do I owe to Acton? Susan. Why some five hundred pounds; towards which, I swear, In all the world I have not one denier.[1.42] Sir Charles Mountford. It will not prove so. Sister, now resolve[1.43] me: What do you think (and speak your conscience) Would Acton give, might he enjoy your bed? Susan. He would not shrink to spend a thousand pound, To give the Mountfords’ name so deep a wound. Sir Charles Mountford. A thousand pound! I but five hundred owe; Grant him your bed, he’s paid with interest so. Susan. O brother! Sir Charles Mountford. O sister! only this one way, With that rich jewel you my debts may pay. In speaking this my cold heart shakes with shame; Nor do I woo you in a brother’s name, But in a stranger’s. Shall I die in debt To Acton, my grand foe, and you still wear The precious jewel that he holds so dear? Susan. My honour I esteem as dear and precious As my redemption. Sir Charles Mountford. I esteem you, sister, As dear, for so dear prizing it. Susan. Will Charles Have me cut off my hands, and send them Acton? Rip up my breast, and with my bleeding heart Present him as a token?