'Tis very true, my Dear, _reply'd his Wife_, and here it is. And then going
to her Chest of Drawers, she gave him out the Key of the Cabinet.

_No, Sirrah_, says the Goldsmith, _you're a Rascal; and you accuse my
Chaste and Vertuous Wife because she has discover'd your Baseness--'Tis
plain enough that your Design was to debauch my Wife, and then to Rob my
House; and I will make you suffer for't, before I've done with you. I've
lost above Five hundred pounds already; and for ought I know you may be the
Thief; for I have found you in my Chamber underneath my Bed, with Picklocks
in your Breeches--Here Boy go call a Constable._

The poor _Beau_ finding himself in such bad Circumstances, begg'd him for
Heavens sake, he wou'd not to call a Constable; for if he shou'd be sent to
Goal, his Reputation wou'd be lost for ever. Matters were private now, and
if they might be kept so, let him but make his own Demands, and he wou'd
satisfie 'em.--This Generous submission did somewhat qualifie the
Goldsmith's Passion. And calling of his Man to fetch his Books up, he
look'd what he had lost by Mr _Theif_, and finding there about four hundred
Pounds set down, he told him, _That he'd use him kindly, and take his Bond
for Three hundred and fifty pound, including in it the fifty Guineas he had
lent him; and for the Ring, since he had in so gross a manner abus'd his
Wife, he shou'd bestow that on her, to make her Satisfaction._

These were hard Terms poor _Bramble_ thought; but yet considering his
Circumstances, he judg'd 'twas better to comply than go to Goal, which
wou'd be the Result of being had before a Justice.

The Bonds being made and Seal'd, he fetches him the Ring, which he, (with
begging of her Pardon,) presents the Goldsmith's Wife, and desires her to
accept of it for the affront he so unworthily had put upon her. And then,