so think on.

HOBSON. I'd be the laughing-stock of the place if I allowed it. I
won't have it, Maggie. It's hardly decent at your time of life.

MAGGIE. I'm thirty and I'm marrying Willie Mossop. And now I'll
tell you my terms.

HOBSON. You're in a nice position to state terms, my lass.

MAGGIE. You will pay my man, Will Mossop, the same wages as
before. And as for me, I've given you the better part of twenty
years of work without wages. I'll work eight hours a day in
future and you will pay me fifteen shillings by the week.

HOBSON. Do you think I'm made of brass?

MAGGIE. You'll soon be made of less than you are if you let
Willie go. And if Willie goes, I go. That's what you've got to
face.

HOBSON. I might face it, Maggie. Shop hands are cheap.

MAGGIE. Cheap ones are cheap. The sort you'd have to watch all
day, and you'd feel happy helping them to tie up parcels and sell
laces with Tudsbury and Heeler and Minns supping their ale
without you. I'm value to you, so's my man; and you can boast it
at the "Moonraker's" that your daughter Maggie's made the
strangest, finest match a woman's made this fifty year. And you
can put your hand in your pocket and do what I propose.