Lucy, aside. O' my Conscience, and little too. I believe: Yet I wish he has enough to serve my Ends. I'll make my Fortune——Lord, Sir, what do you mean? I rival my Lady! Heaven forbid; I would not injure so good a Woman for the World——

——

——

Piz. Pshaw, pshaw—Where's the Injury done to her, Child? Adod, I'll give thee a hundred Crowns.

Lucy. No Injury, say you, my Lord? Why, I wonder you should be so jealous of my Lady, and preach such religious Maxims to her, when your own Principles are quite opposite.

Piz. Look ye, Child, a Man may do that, which would look abominable in a Wife——A Woman's Reputation is a nice Thing——

——

——

Lucy. 'Tis so——and therefore 'tis but Reason I should take Care of mine.

——

Piz. Prithee, no more of that: Thy Reputation shall be safe; I'll marry thee to my Gentleman.

Lucy. Gentleman—Valet! Faugh—And what Good will a hundred Crowns do me, when my Virginity is gone? Indeed, if you lov'd me as much as you say, and would make my Fortune, (for I should love extreamly to be a Lady) I cannot tell how far you might persuade me——I know my Reputation would be safe in your Hands.

——

Piz. Make thy Fortune! Why, I've known some of our Nobles marry a Wife with less than a hundred Crowns——But adod, thou'rt a charming Girl, and therefore I'll make it a hundred Pistoles—What say'st thou now, Lucy? Ah! adod, I must buss thee; [Kisses her.] Ah! Rogue, methinks I'm a young, lusty, vigorous Fellow again——Thou shalt find I am, Girl.

——

——

Lucy, aside. I believe I shall fail you, old Gentleman. Well, my Lord, make it up a thousand Pistoles, and I am your's else I'll die a Maid, I'm resolv'd.

Piz. A thousand Pistoles, why thou art the most unconscionable Wench in Italy: Why, 'tis a Price 

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