_Sham_. Sir, it may be Things have so fallen out, that she could not
possibly come.

Sir _Tim_. Things! a Pox of your Tricks--Well, I see there's no trusting
a poor Devil--Well, what Device will your Rogueship find out to cheat
me next?

_Sham_. Prithee help me out at a dead lift, _Sharp_. [_Aside_.

_Sharp_. Cheat you, Sir!--if I ben't reveng'd on this She-Counsellor of
the Patching and Painting, this Letter-in of Midnight Lovers, this
Receiver of Bribes for stol'n Pleasures; may I be condemn'd never to
make love to any thing of higher Quality.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, nay, no threatning, _Sharp_; it may be she's innocent
yet--Give her t'other Bribe, and try what that will do.
[_Gives him Money_.

_Sham_. No, Sir, I'll have no more to do with frail Woman, in this Case;
I have a surer way to do your Business.

_Enter_ Page _with a Letter_.

Sir _Tim_. Is not that _Bellmour's_ Page?

_Sharp_. It is, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, the Rogue's looking for me; he has a Challenge
in his hand too.