LOCKIT. Is this Language to me, Sirrah,--who have sav'd you from the
Gallows, Sirrah!
[Collaring each other.]
PEACHUM. If I am hang'd, it shall be for ridding the World of an
arrant Rascal.
LOCKIT. This Hand shall do the Office of the Halter you deserve, and
throttle you--you Dog! -
PEACHUM. Brother, Brother--We are both in the Wrong--We shall be
both Losers in the Dispute--for you know we have it in our Power to
hang each other. You should not be so passionate.
LOCKIT. Nor you so provoking.
PEACHUM. 'Tis our mutual Interest; 'tis for the Interest of the
World we should agree. If I said any thing, Brother, to the
Prejudice of your Character, I ask pardon.
LOCKIT. Brother Peachum--I can forgive as well as resent.--Give me
your Hand. Suspicion does not become a Friend.
PEACHUM. I only meant to give you Occasion to justify yourself: But
I must now step home, for I expect the Gentleman about this Snuff-
box, that Filch nimm'd two Nights ago in the Park. I appointed him
at this Hour.
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