_Mrs Over._ A very small matter, by my troth; considering the charges
I have been at in her education: Poor Prue was born under an unlucky
planet; I despair of a coach for her. Her first maiden-head brought me
in but little, the weather-beaten old knight, that bought her of me,
beat down the price so low. I held her at an hundred guineas, and he
bid ten; and higher than thirty would not rise.

_Aldo._ A pox of his unlucky handsel! He can but fumble, and will not
pay neither.

_Pru._ Hang him; I could never endure him, father: He is the filthiest
old goat; and then he comes every day to our house, and eats out his
thirty guineas; and at three months end, he threw me off.

_Mrs Over._ And since then, the poor child has dwindled, and dwindled
away. Her next maiden-head brought me but ten; and from ten she fell
to five; and at last to a single guinea: She has no luck to keeping;
they all leave her, the more my sorrow.

_Aldo._ We must get her a husband then in the city; they bite rarely
at a stale whore at this end of the town, new furbished up in a tawdry
manteau.

_Mrs Over._ No: Pray let her try her fortune a little longer in the
world first: By my troth, I should be loth to be at all this cost, in
her French, and her singing, to have her thrown away upon a husband.

_Aldo._ Before George, there can come no good of your swearing, Mrs
Overdon: Say your prayers, Prue, and go duly to church o'Sundays,
you'll thrive the better all the week. Come, have a good heart, child;