_Lucy._ Nay, I cannot hear this with patience.--[_Comes forward._] With your pardon, mother, you are as much mistaken as my godmother in Mr. Dapperwit; for he is as great a wit as any, and in what he speaks or writes as happy as any. I can assure you, he contemns all your tearing wits, in comparison of himself. _Mrs. Joyn._ Alas, poor young wretch! I cannot blame thee so much as thy mother, for thou art not thyself. His bewitching madrigals have charmed thee into some heathenish imp with a hard name. _Lucy._ Nymph, you mean, godmother. _Mrs. Joyn._ But you, gossip, know what's what. Yesterday, as I told you, a fine old alderman of the city, seeing your daughter in so ill hands as Dapperwit's, was zealously, and in pure charity, bent upon her redemption; and has sent me to tell you, he will take her into his care and relieve your necessities, if you think good. _Mrs. Cros._ Will he relieve all our necessities? _Mrs. Joyn._ All. _Mrs. Cros._ Mine, as well as my daughter's? _Mrs. Joyn._ Yes. _Mrs. Cros._ Well fare his heart!--D'ye hear, daughter, Mrs. Joyner has satisfied me clearly; Dapperwit is a vile fellow, and, in short, you must put an end to that scandalous familiarity between you. _Lucy._ Leave sweet Mr. Dapperwit!--oh furious ingratitude! Was he not the man that gave me my first Farrendon[37] gown, put me out of worsted stockings and handkerchiefs, taught me to dress, talk, and move well? _Mrs. Cros._ He has taught you to talk indeed; but, huswife, I will not have my pleasure disputed. _Mrs. Joyn._ Nay, indeed, you are too tart with her, poor sweet soul. _Lucy._ He taught me to rehearse, too,--would have brought me into the playhouse, where I might have had as good luck as others: I might have had good clothes, plate, jewels, and things so well about me, that my neighbours, the little gentlemen's wives of fifteen hundred or two thousand pounds a year, should have retired into the country, sick with envy of my prosperity and greatness. _Mrs. Joyn._ If you follow your mother's counsel, you are like to enjoy all you talk of sooner than by Dapperwit's assistance:--a poor wretch that goes on tick for the paper he writes his lampoons on, and the very ale and coffee that inspire him, as they say. _Mrs. Cros._ I am credibly informed so, indeed, Madam Joyner. _Mrs. Joyn._ Well, I have discharged my conscience; good morrow to you both. [_Exeunt severally._ SCENE II.--Mrs. CROSSBITE'S _Dining-room._ _Enter_ DAPPERWIT _and_ RANGER. _Dap._ This is the cabinet in which I hide my jewel; a small house, in an obscure, little, retired street, too. _Ran._ Vulgarly, an alley. _Dap._ Nay, I hide my mistress with as much care as a spark of the town does his money from his dun after a good hand at play; and nothing but you could have wrought upon me for a sight of her, let me perish. _Ran._ My obligation to you is great; do not lessen it by delays of the favour you promised.