Chapter 1

_House_.--Mrs MONEYWOOD, HARRIOT, LUCKLESS.

_Moneywood_. Never tell me, Mr Luckless, of your play, and your play. I tell you I must be paid. I would no more depend on a benefit-night of an unacted play than I would on a benefit-ticket in an undrawn lottery. Could I have guessed that I had a poet in my house! Could I have looked for a poet under laced clothes!

_Luck_. Why not? since you may often find poverty under them: nay, they are commonly the signs of it. And, therefore, why may not a poet be seen in them as well as a courtier?

_Money_. Do you make a jest of my misfortune, sir?

_Luck_. Rather my misfortune. I am sure I have a better title to poverty than you; for, notwithstanding the handsome figure I make, unless you are so good to invite me, I am afraid I shall scarce prevail on my stomach to dine to-day.

_Money_. Oh, never fear that--you will never want a dinner till you have dined at all the eating-houses round.--No one shuts their doors against you the first time; and I think you are so kind, seldom to trouble them a second.

_Luck_. No.--And if you will give me leave to walk out of your doors, the devil take me if ever I come into 'em again,

_Money_. Pay me, sir, what you owe me, and walk away whenever you please.

_Luck_. With all my heart, madam; get me a pen and ink, and I'll give you my note for it immediately.

_Money_. Your note! who will discount it? Not your bookseller; for he has as many of your notes as he has of your works; both good lasting ware, and which are never likely to go out of his shop and his scrutore.

_Har_. Nay, but, madam, 'tis barbarous to insult him in this manner.

_Money_. No doubt you'll take his part. Pray get you about your business. I suppose he intends to pay me by ruining you. Get you in this instant: and remember, if ever I see you with him again I'll turn you out of doors.