No have, no pay.

D'ye see that my young squire ?" Dorrimore could offer no contradiction.

All that remained to be discussed was what would follow supposing fortune favoured them, and they subsided into a whispered conference which was after a time interrupted by some of Dorrimore's boon companions, who carried him off to a wild revelry in the Covent Garden taverns with the last hour at the "Finish," the tavern of ill-repute on the south side of the market.
Rofflash would have accompanied the party but that a hand was laid on his arm and a masked lady whispered:-- "One moment, captain, I want you." He turned.

He recognised the speaker by the lower part of her face, the round, somewhat prominent chin, the imperious mouth with its sensual lower lip, the bold sweeping contour from the chin to the ear.
"Sally Salisbury--the devil!" he ejaculated.
"Not quite, but a near relative may be," rejoined Sally with a sarcastic laugh.

"Who's the spark you're so thick with ?" "The fool who's mad to get hold of the prettiest wench in town--Lavinia Fenton." "That little trollop! I hate the creature.