_Lucy._ And now to let me out to hire like a hackney!--I tell you my own dear mother shall bargain for me no more; there are as little as I can bargain for themselves now-a-days, as well as properer women. _Mrs. Cros._ Whispering all this while!--Beware of his snares again: come away, child. _Dap._ Sweet, dear miss-- _Lucy._ Bargain for me!--you have reckoned without your hostess, as they say. Bargain for me! bargain for me! [_Exit._ _Dap._ I must return, then, to treat with you. _Mrs. Cros._ Treat me no treatings, but take a word for all. You shall no more dishonour my daughter, nor molest my lodgings, as you have done at all hours. _Dap._ Do you intend to change 'em, then, to Bridewell, or Long's powdering-tub?[41] _Mrs. Cros._ No, to a bailiff's house, and then you'll be so civil, I presume, as not to trouble us. _Ran._ Here, will you have my comb again, Dapperwit? _Dap._ A pox! I think women take inconstancy from me worse than from any man breathing. _Mrs. Cros._ Pray, sir, forget me before you write your next lampoon. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Sir SIMON ADDLEPLOT _in the dress of a_ Clerk.--RANGER _retires to the background._ _Sir Sim._ Have I found you? have I found you in your by-walks, faith and troth? I am almost out of breath in following you. Gentlemen when they get into an alley walk so fast, as if they had more earnest business there than in the broad streets. _Dap._ [_Aside._]--How came this sot hither? Fortune has sent him to ease my choler.--You impudent rascal, who are you, that dare intrude thus on us? [_Strikes him._ _Sir Sim._ Don't you know me, Dapperwit? sure you know me. [_Softly._ _Dap._ Will thou dishonour me with thy acquaintance too? thou rascally, insolent, pen-and-ink man. [_Strikes him again._ _Sir Sim._ Oh! oh! sure you know me! pray know me. [_Softly._ _Dap._ By thy saucy familiarity, thou shouldst be a marker at a tennis-court, a barber, or a slave that fills coffee. _Sir Sim._ Oh! oh! _Dap._ What art thou? [_Kicks him._ _Sir Sim._ Nay, I must not discover myself to Ranger for a kick or two. Oh, pray hold, sir: by that you will know me. [_Delivers him a letter._ _Dap._ How, Sir Simon! _Sir Sim._ Mum, mum, make no excuses, man; I would not Ranger should have known me for five hundred--kicks. _Dap._ Your disguise is so natural, I protest, it will excuse me. _Sir Sim._ I know that, prithee make no excuses, I say. No ceremony between thee and I, man:--read the letter. _Dap._ What, you have not opened it! _Sir Sim._ Prithee, don't be angry, the seal is a little cracked: for I could not help kissing Mrs. Martha's letter. The word is, now or never. Her father she finds will be abroad all this day, and she longs to see your friend Sir Simon Addleplot:--faith 'tis a pretty jest; while I am with her, and praising myself to her at no ordinary rate. Let thee and I alone at an intrigue.