_Fail_. Madam, I like not your enquiring after Sir Timorous: I
suspect you have some design upon him: You would fain undermine your
cousin, and marry him yourself.

_Isa_. Suppose I should design it, what are you the worse for my
good fortune? Shall I make a proposition to you? I know you two carry
a great stroke with him: Make the match between us, and propound to
yourselves what advantages you can reasonably hope: You shall chouse
him of horses, cloaths, and money, and I'll wink at it.

_Burr_. And if he will not be choused, shall we beat him out
on't?

_Isa_. For that, as you can agree.

_Fail_. Give us a handsel of the bargain; let us enjoy you, and
'tis a match.

_Isa_. Grammercy i'faith, boys; I love a good offer, howe'er the
world goes; but you would not be so base to wrong him that way?

_Fail_. I vow to gad but I would, madam: In a horse, or a woman,
I may lawfully cheat my own father: Besides, I know the knight's
complexion; he would be sure to follow other women; and all that.

_Isa_. Nay, if he fought with the sword, he should give me leave
to fight with the scabbard.

_Burr_. What say you, madam? Is't a bargain?