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<div class = "act">ACT the Second.</div> <div class = "scenedesc">Enter Sir Francis Gripe, Miranda.</div> Sir Fran. HA, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Miran. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha; Oh, I shall die with Laughing.— The most Romantick Adventure: Ha, ha! what does the odious young Fop mean? A Hundred Pieces to talk an Hour with me; Ho, ha. Sir Fran. And I'm to be by too; there's the Jest; Adod, if it had been in Private, I shou'd not have car'd to trust the young Dog. Mirand. Indeed and Indeed, but you might Gardy.— Now methinks there's no Body Handsomer than you; So Neat, so Clean, so Good-Humour'd, and so Loving.— Sir Fran. Pritty Rogue, Pritty Rogue, and so thou shalt find me, if thou do'st prefer thy Gardy before these Caperers of the Age, thou shalt out-shine the Queen's Box on an Opera Night; thou shalt be the Envy of the Ring (for I will Carry thee to Hide-Park) and thy Equipage shall Surpass, the what—d'ye call 'em Ambassadors. Miran. Nay, I'm sure the Discreet Part of my Sex will Envy me more for the Inside Furniture, when you are in it, than my Outside Equipage. Sir Fran. A Cunning Bagage, a faith thou art, and a wise one too; and to show thee thou hast not chose amiss, I'll this moment Disinherit my Son, and Settle my whole Estate upon thee. Miran. There's an old Rogue now: (Aside.) No, Gardy, I would not have your Name be so Black in the World— You know my Father's Will runs, that I am not to possess my Estate, without your Consent, till I'm Five and Twenty; you shall only abate the odd Seven Years, and make me Mistress of my Estate to Day, and I'll make you Master of my Person to Morrow. 15 Sir Fran. Humph? that may not be safe— No Chargy, I'll Settle it upon thee for Pin-mony; and that will be every bit as well, thou know'st. Miran. Unconscionable old Wretch, Bribe me with my own Money— Which way shall I get out of his Hands? <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Fran. Well, what art thou thinking on, my Girl, ha? How to Banter Sir George? Miran. I must not pretend to Banter: He knows my Tongue too well: (Aside.) No, Gardy, I have thought of a way will Confound him more than all I cou'd say, if I shou'd talk to him Seven Years. Sir Fran. How's that? Oh! I'm Transported, I'm Ravish'd, I'm Mad— Miran. It wou'd make you Mad, if you knew All, (Aside.) I'll not Answer him one Word, but be Dumb to all he says— Sir Fran. Dumb, good; Ha, ha, ha. Excellent, ha, ha, I think I have you now, Sir George: Dumb! he'll go Distracted— Well, she's the wittiest Rogue— Ha, ha, Dumb! I can but Laugh, ha, ha, to think how damn'd Mad he'll be when he finds he has given his Money away for a a Dumb Show. Ha, ha, ha. Miran. Nay, Gardy, if he did but know my Thoughts of him, it wou'd make him ten times Madder: Ha, ha, ha. Sir Fran. Ay, so it wou'd Chargy, to hold him in such Derision, to scorn to Answer him, to be Dumb: Ha, ha, ha, ha. <div class = "entrance">Enter Charles.</div> Sir Fran. How now, Sirrah, Who let you in? Char. My Necessity, Sir. Sir Fran. Sir, your Necessities are very Impertinent, and ought to have sent before they Entred. Char. Sir, I knew 'twas a Word wou'd gain Admittance no where. Sir Fran. Then, Sirrah, how durst you Rudely thrust that upon your Father, which no Body else wou'd admit? 16 Char. Sure the Name of a Son is a sufficient Plea. I ask this Lady's Pardon if I have intruded. Sir Fran. Ay, Ay, ask her Pardon and her Blessing too, if you expect any thing from me. Miran. I believe yours, Sir Francis, in a Purse of Guinea's wou'd be more material. Your Son may have Business with you, I'll retire. Sir Fran. I guess his Business, but I'll dispatch him, I expect the Knight every Minute: You'll be in Readiness. Miran. Certainly! my Expectation is more upon the wing than yours, old Gentleman. <div class = "stagedir">[Exit.</div> Sir Fran. Well, Sir! Char. Nay, it is very Ill, Sir; my Circumstances are, I'm sure. Sir Fran. And what's that to me, Sir: Your Management shou'd have made them better. Char. If you please to intrust me with the Management of my Estate, I shall endeavour it, Sir. Sir Fran. What to set upon a Card, and buy a Lady's Favour at the Price of a Thousand Pieces, to Rig out an Equipage for a Wench, or by your Carelessness enrich your Steward to fine for Sheriff, or put up for Parliament-Man. Char. I hope I shou'd not spend it this way: However, I ask only for what my Uncle left me; Your's you may dispose of as you please, Sir. Sir Fran. That I shall, out of your Reach, I assure you, Sir. Adod these young Fellows think old Men get Estates for nothing but them to squander away, in Dicing, Wenching, Drinking, Dressing, and so forth. Char. I think I was born a Gentleman, Sir; I'm sure my Uncle bred me like one. Sir Fran. From which you wou'd infer, Sir, that Gaming, Whoring, and the Pox, are Requisits to a Gentleman. Char. Monstrous! when I wou'd ask him only for a Support, he falls into these unmannerly Reproaches; I must, tho' against my Will, employ Invention, and by Stratagem relieve my self. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> 17 D Sir Fran. Sirrah, what is it you mutter, Sirrah, ha? (Holds up his Cane.) I say, you sha'n't have a Groat out of my Hands till I Please—and may be I'll never Please, and what's that to you? Char. Nay, to be Robb'd, or have one's Throat Cut is not much— Sir Fran. What's that, Sirrah? wou'd ye Rob me, or Cut my Throat, ye Rogue? Char. Heaven forbid, Sir,— I said no such thing. Sir Fran. Mercy on me! What a Plague it is to have a Son of One and Twenty, who wants to Elbow one out of one's Life, to Edge himself into the Estate. <div class = "entrance">Enter Marplot.</div> Marpl. Egad he's here— I was afraid I had lost him: His Secret cou'd not be with his Father, his Wants are Publick there— Guardian,—your Servant Charles, I know by that sorrowful Countenance of thine. The old Man's Fist is as close as his strong Box— But I'll help thee— Sir Fran. So: Here's another extravagant Coxcomb, that will spend his Fortune before he comes to't; but he shall pay swinging Interest, and so let the Fool go on— Well, what do's Necessity bring you too, Sir? Marpl. You have hit it, Guardian— I want a Hundred Pound. Sir Fran. For what? Marpl. Po'gh, for a Hundred Things, I can't for my Life tell you for what. Char. Sir, I suppose I have received all the Answer I am like to have. Marpl. Oh, the Devil, if he gets out before me, I shall lose him agen. Sir Fran. Ay, Sir, and you may be marching as soon as you please— I must see a Change in your Temper e'er you find one in mine. Marpl. Pray, Sir, dispatch me; the Money, Sir, I'm in mighty haste. 18 Sir Fran. Fool, take this and go to the Cashier; I sha'n't be long plagu'd with thee. <div class = "stagedir">(Gives him a Note.</div> Marpl. Devil take the Cashier, I shall certainly have Charles gone before I come back agen. <div class = "stagedir">(Runs out.</div> Char. Well, Sir, I take my Leave— But remember, you Expose an only Son to all the Miseries of wretched Poverty, which too often lays the Plan for Scenes of Mischief. Sir Fran. Stay, Charles, I have a sudden Thought come into my Head, may prove to thy Advantage. Char. Ha, does he Relent? Sir Fran. My Lady Wrinkle, worth Forty Thousand Pound, sets up for a Handsome young Husband; she prais'd thee t'other Day; tho' the Match-makers can get Twenty Guinea's for a sight of her, I can introduce thee for nothing. Char. My Lady Wrinkle, Sir, why she has but one Eye. Sir Fran. Then she'll see but half your Extravagance, Sir. Char. Condemn me to such a piece of Deformity! Toothless, Dirty, Wry-neck'd, Hunch-back'd Hag. Sir Fran. Hunch-back'd! so much the better, then she has a Rest for her Misfortunes; for thou wilt Load her swingingly. Now I warrant you think, this is no Offer of a Father; Forty Thousand Pound is nothing with you. Char. Yes, Sir, I think it is too much; a young Beautiful Woman with half the Money wou'd be more agreeable. I thank you, Sir; but you Chose better for your self, I find. Sir Fran. Out of my Doors, you Dog; you pretend to meddle with my Marriage, Sirrah. Char. Sir, I obey: But— Sir Fran. But me no Buts— Be gone, Sir: Dare to ask me for Money agen— Refuse Forty Thousand Pound! Out of my Doors, I say, without Reply. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit Char.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Servant.</div> Serv. One Sir George Airy enquires for you, Sir. 19 D2 <div class = "entrance">Enter Marplot Running.</div> Marpl.. Ha? gone! Is Charles gone, Guardian? Sir Fran. Yes; and I desire your wise Worship to walk after him. Marpl. Nay, Egad, I shall Run, I tell you but that. Ah, Pox of the Cashier for detaining me so long, where the Devil shall I find him now. I shall certainly lose this Secret. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit, hastily.</div> Sir Fran. What is the Fellow distracted?— Desire Sir George to walk up— Now for a Tryal of Skill that will make me Happy, and him a Fool: Ha, ha, ha, in my Mind he looks like an Ass already. <div class = "entrance">Enter Sir George.</div> Sir Fran. Well, Sir George, Dee ye hold in the same Mind? or wou'd you Capitulate? Ha, ha, ha: Look, here are the Guinea's, (Chinks them.) Ha, ha, ha. Sir Geo. Not if they were twice the Sum, Sir Francis: Therefore be brief, call in the Lady, and take your Post—if she's a Woman, and, not seduc'd by Witchcraft to this old Rogue, I'll make his Heart ake; for if she has but one Grain of Inclination about her, I'll vary a Thousand Shapes, but find it. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter <ins class = "correction" title = "so in original">Mirand</ins>.</div> Sir Fran. Agreed—Miranda. There Sir George, try your Fortune, (Takes out his Watch.) Sir Geo. <div class = "plainverse"> So from the Eastern Chambers breaks the Sun, Dispels the Clouds, and gilds the Vales below.</div> <div class = "stagedir">(Salutes her.</div> Sir Fran. Hold, Sir, Kissing was not in our Agreement. Sir Geo. Oh! That's by way of Prologue:— Prithee, Old Mammon, to thy Post. Sir Fran. Well, young Timon, 'tis now 4 exactly; one Hour, remember is your utmost Limit, not a Minute more. <div class = "stagedir">(Retires to the bottom of the Stage.</div> Sir Geo. Madam, whether you will Excuse or Blame my Love, the Author of this rash Proceeding depends upon your Pleasure, as also the Life of your Admirer; your 20 sparkling Eyes speak a Heart susceptible of Love; your Vivacity a Soul too delicate to admit the Embraces of decay'd Mortality. Miran. (Aside.) Oh, that I durst speak— Sir Geo. Shake off this Tyrant Guardian's Yoke, assume your self, and dash his bold aspiring Hopes; the Deity of his Desires, is Avarice; a Heretick in Love, and ought to be banish'd by the Queen of Beauty. See, Madam, a faithful Servant kneels and begs to be admitted in the Number of your Slaves. <div class = "stagedir">(Miranda gives him her Hand to Raise him.</div> Sir Fran. I wish I cou'd hear what he says now. (Running up.) Hold, hold, hold, no Palming, that's contrary to Articles— Sir Geo. Death, Sir, Keep your Distance, or I'll write another Article in your Guts. <div class = "stagedir">(Lays his Hand to his Sword.</div> Sir Fran. (Going back.) A Bloody-minded Fellow!— Sir Geo. Not Answer me! Perhaps she thinks my Address too Grave: I'll be more free— Can you be so Unconscionable, Madam, to let me say all these fine things to you without one single Compliment in Return? View me well, am I not a proper Handsome Fellow, ha? Can you prefer that old, dry, wither'd, sapless Log of Sixty-five, to the vigorous, gay, sprightly Love of Twenty-four? With Snoring only he'll awake thee, but I with Ravishing Delight wou'd make thy Senses Dance in Consort with the Joyful Minutes—ha? not yet, sure she is Dumb— Thus wou'd I steal and touch thy Beauteous Hand, (Takes bold of her Hand) till by degrees I reach'd thy snowy Breasts, then Ravish Kisses thus, <div class = "stagedir">(Embraces her in Extasie.</div> Miran. (Strugles and flings from him.) Oh Heavens! I shall not be able to contain my self. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Fran. (Running up with his Watch in his Hand.) Sure she did not speak to him— There's Three Quarters of the Hour gone, Sir George— Adod, I don't like those close Conferences— Sir Geo. More Interruptions— You will have it, Sir. <div class = "stagedir">(Lays his Hand to his Sword.</div> 21 Sir Fran. (Going back.) No, no, you shan't have her neither. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Geo. Dumb still—sure this old Dog has enjoyn'd her Silence; I'll try another way— I must conclude, Madam, that in Compliance to your Guardian's Humour, you refuse to answer me— Consider the Injustice of his Injunction. This single Hour cost me a Hundred Pound—and wou'd you answer me, I cou'd purchase the 24 so: However, Madam, you must give me leave to make the best Interpretation I can for my Money, and take the Indication of your Silence for the secret Liking of my Person: Therefore, Madam, I will instruct you how to keep your Word inviolate to Sir Francis, and yet Answer me to every Question: As for Example, When I ask any thing, to which you wou'd Reply in the Affirmative, gently Nod your Head—thus; and when in the Negative thus; (Shakes his Head.) and in the doubtful a tender Sigh, thus <div class = "stagedir">(Sighs.</div> Miran. How every Action charms me—but I'll fit him for Signs I warrant him. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Fran. Ha, ha, ha, ha, poor Sir George, Ha, ha, ha, ha. <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Geo. Was it by his desire that you are Dumb, Madam, to all that I can say? Miran. (Nods.) Sir Geo. Very well! she's tractable I find— And is it possible that you can love him? Miraculous! (Miran. Nods.) Pardon the bluntness of my Questions, for my Time is short; may I not hope to supplant him in your Esteem? (Miran. Sighs.) Good! she answers me as I could wish— You'll not consent to marry him then? (Miran. Sighs.) How, doubtful in that— Undone again— Humph! but that may proceed from his Power to keep her out of her Estate till Twenty Five; I'll try that— Come, Madam, I cannot think you hesitate in this Affair out of any Motive, but your Fortune— Let him keep it till those few Years are expir'd; make me Happy with your Person, let him enjoy your Wealth—(Miran. holds up her Hands.) Why, 22 what Sign is that now? Nay, nay, Madam, except you observe my Lesson, I can't understand your meaning— Sir Fran. What a Vengeance, are they talking by Signs, 'ad I may be fool'd here; what do you mean, Sir George? Sir Geo. To Cut your Throat if you dare Mutter another Syllable. Sir Fran. Od! I wish he were fairly out of my House. Sir Geo. Pray, Madam, will you answer me to the Purpose? (Miran. shakes her Head, and points to Sir Francis.) What! does she mean she won't answer me to the purpose, or is she afraid yon' old Cuff should understand her Signs?— Aye, it must be that, I perceive, Madam, you are too apprehensive of the Promise you have made to follow my Rules; therefore I'll suppose your Mind and answer for you— First, for my self, Madam, that I am in Love with you is an infallible Truth. Now for you: (Turns on her side.) Indeed, Sir, and may I believe it— As certainly, Madam, as that 'tis Day light, or that I Die if you persist in Silence— Bless me with the Musick of your Voice, and raise my Spirits to their proper Heaven: Thus low let me intreat; e'er I'm oblig'd to quit this Place, grant me some Token of a favourable Reception to keep my Hopes alive. (Arises hastily turns of her side.) Rise, Sir, and since my Guardian's Presence will not allow me Privilege of Tongue, Read that and rest assured you are not indifferent to me. (Offers her a Letter.) Ha! right Woman! But no (She strikes it down.) matter I'll go on. Sir Fran. Ha! what's that a Letter— Ha, ha, ha, thou art baulk'd. Miran. The best Assurance I ever saw— <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Geo. Ha? a Letter, Oh! let me Kiss it with the same Raptures that I would do the dear Hand that touch'd it. (Opens it.) Now for a quick Fancy and a long Extempore— What's here? (Reads.) "Dear, Sir George, this Virgin Muse I consecrate to you, which when it has receiv'd the Addition of your Voice, 'twill Charm me into Desire of Liberty to Love, which you, and only you can 23 fix." My Angel! Oh you transport me! (Kisses the Letter.) And see the Power of your Command; the God of Love has set the Verse already; the flowing Numbers Dance into a Tune, and I'm inspir'd with a Voice to sing it. Miran. I'm sure thou art inspir'd with Impudence enough. Sir Geo. (Sings.) <div class = "verse"> Great Love inspire him; Say I admire him. Give me the Lover That can discover Secret Devotion from silent Motion; Then don't betray me, But hence convey me.</div> Sir Geo. (Taking hold of Miranda.) With all my Heart, this Moment let's Retire. (Sir Francis coming up hastily.) Sir Fran. The Hour is expir'd, Sir, and you must take your leave. There, my Girl, there's the Hundred Pound which thou hast won, go, I'll be with you presently, Ha, ha, ha, ha. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit Miranda.</div> Sir Geo. Ads Heart, Madam, you won't leave me just in the Nick, will you? Sir Fran. Ha, ha, ha, she has nick'd you, Sir George, I think, Ha, ha, ha: Have you any more Hundred Pounds to throw away upon Courtship, Ha, ha, ha. Sir Geo. He, he, he, he, a Curse of your fleering Jests— Yet, however ill I succeeded, I'll venture the same Wager, she does not value thee a spoonful of Snuff— Nay more, though you enjoyn'd her Silence to me, you'll never make her speak to the Purpose with your self. Sir Fran. Ha, ha, ha, did not I tell thee thou would'st repent thy Money? Did not I say she hated young Fellow's, Ha, ha, ha. Sir Geo. And I'm positive she's not in Love with Age. Sir Fran. Ha, ha, no matter for that, Ha, ha, she's not taken with your Youth, nor your Rhetorick to boot, ha, ha. Sir Geo. Whate'er her Reasons are for disliking<ins class = "correction" title = "reading uncertain"> a </ins>me, I am certain she can be taken with nothing about thee. 24 Sir Fran. Ha, ha, ha; how he swells with Envy!— Poor Man, poor Man— Ha, ha; I must beg your Pardon, Sir George, Miranda will be Impatient to have her share of Mirth: Verily we shall Laugh at thee most Egregiously; Ha, ha, ha. Sir Geo. With all my Heart, faith—I shall Laugh in my Turn too— For if you dare marry her old Belzebub, you would be Cuckolded most Egregiously; Remember that, and Tremble— <div class = "verse"> She that to Age her Beauteous Self resigns, Shows witty Management for close Designs. Then if thou'rt grac'd with fair Miranda's Bed, Actæon's Horns she Means, shall Crown thy Head.</div> <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Sir Fran. Ha, ha, ha; he is mad. <div class = "verse"> These fluttering Fops imagine they can Wind, Turn, and Decoy to Love, all Women-kind: But here's a Proof of Wisdom in my Charge, Old Men are Constant, Young Men live at Large. The Frugal Hand can Bills at Sight defray, When he that Lavish is, has Nought to pay.</div> <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> <div class = "scene">SCENE Changes to Sir Jealous Traffick's House.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Sir Jealous, Isabinda; Patch following.</div> Sir Jeal. What in the Balcone agen, notwithstanding my positive Commands to the contrary!— Why don't you write a Bill upon your Forehead, to show Passengers there's something to be Let— Isab. What harm can there be in a little fresh Air, Sir? Sir Jeal. Is your Constitution so hot, Mistriss, that it wants cooling, ha? Apply the Virtuous Spanish Rules, banish your Tast, and Thoughts of Flesh, feed upon Roots, and quench your Thirst with Water. Isab. That, and a close Room, wou'd certainly make me die of the Vapours. 25 E Sir Jeal. No, Mistriss, 'tis your High-fed, Lusty, Rambling, Rampant Ladies—that are troubl'd with the Vapours; 'tis your Ratifia, Persico, Cynamon, Citron, and Spirit of Clary, cause such Swi—m—ing in the Brain, that carries many a Guinea full-tide to the Doctor. But you are not to be Bred this way; No Galloping abroad, no receiving Visits at home; for in our loose Country, the Women are as dangerous as the Men. Patch. So I told her, Sir; and that it was not Decent to be seen in a Balcone— But she threaten'd to slap my Chaps, and told me, I was her Servant, not her Governess. Sir Jeal. Did she so? But I'll make her to know, that you are her Duenna: Oh that incomparable Custom of Spain! why here's no depending upon old Women in my Country—for they are as Wanton at Eighty, as a Girl of Eighteen; and a Man may as safely trust to Asgill's Translation, as to his great Grand-Mother's not marrying agen. Isab. Or to the Spanish Ladies Veils, and Duenna's, for the Safeguard of their Honour. Sir Jeal. Dare to Ridicule the Cautious Conduct of that wise Nation, and I'll have you Lock'd up this Fortnight, without a Peephole. Isab. If we had but the Ghostly Helps in England, which they have in Spain, I might deceive you if you did,— Sir, 'tis not the Restraint, but the Innate Principles, secures the Reputation and Honour of our Sex— Let me tell you, Sir, Confinement sharpens the Invention, as want of Sight strengthens the other Senses, and is often more Pernicious than the Recreation innocent Liberty allows. Sir Jeal. Say you so, Mistress, who the Devil taught you the Art of Reasoning? I assure you, they must have a greater Faith than I pretend to, that can think any Woman innocent who requires Liberty. Therefore, Patch, to your Charge I give her; Lock her up till I come back from Change: I shall have some sauntring Coxcomb, with nothing but a Red Coat and a Feather, think, by Leaping into her Arms, to Leap into my Estate— But I'll prevent them, she shall be only Signeur Babinetto's. 26 Patch. Really, Sir, I wish you wou'd employ any Body else in this Affair; I lead a Life like a Dog with obeying your Commands. Come, Madam, will you please to be Lock'd up. Isab. Ay, to enjoy more Freedom than he is aware of. (Aside.) <div class = "stagedir">(Exit with Patch.</div> Sir Jeal. I believe this Wench is very true to my Interest: I am happy I met with her, if I can but keep my Daughter from being blown upon till Signeur Babinetto arrives; who shall marry her as soon as he comes, and carry her to Spain as soon as he has marry'd her; she has a pregnant Wit, and I'd no more have her an English Wife, than the Grand Signior's Mistress. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Whisper.</div> Whisp. So, I see Sir Jealous go out; where shall I find Mrs. Patch now. <div class = "entrance">Enter Patch.</div> Patch. Oh Mr. Whisper, my Lady saw you out at the Window, and order'd me to bid you fly, and let your Master know she's now alone. Whisp. Hush, Speak softly; I go, go: But hark'e Mrs. Patch, shall not you and I have a little Confabulation, when my Master and your Lady is engag'd? Patch. Ay, Ay, Farewell. <div class = "stagedir">(Goes in, and shuts the Door.</div> <div class = "entrance">Re-enter Sir Jealous Traffick meeting Whisper.</div> Sir Jeal. Sure whil'st I was talking with Mr. Tradewell, I heard my Door clap. (Seeing Whisper.) Ha! a Man lurking about my House; who do you want there, Sir? Whisp. Want—want, a pox, Sir Jealous! what must I say now?— <div class = "stagedir">(Aside.</div> Sir Jeal. Ay, want; have you a Letter or Message for any Body there?— O my Conscience, this is some He-Bawd— Whisp. Letter or Message, Sir! 27 E2 Sir Jeal. Ay, Letter or Message, Sir. Whisp. No, not I, Sir. Sir Jeal. Sirrah, Sirrah, I'll have you set in the Stocks, if you don't tell me your Business immediately. Whisp. Nay, Sir, my Business—is no great matter of Business neither; and yet 'tis Business of Consequence too. Sir Jeal. Sirrah, don't trifle with me. Whisp. Trifle, Sir, have you found him, Sir? Sir Jeal. Found what, you Rascal. Whisp. Why Trifle is the very Lap-Dog my Lady lost, Sir; I fancy'd I see him run into this House. I'm glad you have him— Sir, my Lady will be over-joy'd that 1 have found him. Sir Jeal. Who is your Lady Friend? Whisp. My Lady Love-puppy, Sir. Sir Jeal. My Lady Love-puppy! then prithee carry thy self to her, for I know no other Whelp that belongs to her; and let me catch ye no more Puppy-hunting about my Doors, lest I have you prest into the Service, Sirrah. Whisp. By no means, Sir— Your humble Servant; I must watch whether he goes, or no, before I can tell my Master. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Sir Jeal. This Fellow has the Officious Leer of a Pimp; and I half suspect a Design, but I'll be upon them before they think on me, I warrant 'em. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> <div class = "scene">SCENE Charles's Lodging.</div> <div class = "entrance">Enter Charles and Marplot.</div> Char. Honest Marplot, I thank thee for this Supply; I expect my Lawyer with a Thousand Pound I have order'd him to take up, and then you shall be Repaid. Marpl. Pho, pho, no more of that: Here comes Sir George Airy— <div class = "entrance">Enter Sir George.</div> Cursedly out of Humour at his Disappointment; see how he looks! Ha, ha, ha. 28 Sir Geo. Ah, Charles, I am so humbled in my Pretensions to Plots upon Women, that I believe I shall never have Courage enough to attempt a Chamber-maid agen—I'll tell thee. Char. Ha, ha; I'll spare you the Relation by telling you— Impatient to know your Business with my Father, when I saw you Enter, I slipt back into the next Room, where I overheard every Syllable. Sir Geo. That I said— But I'll be hang'd if you heard her Answer—. But prithee tell me, Charles, is she a Fool? Char. I ne'er suspected her for one; but Marplot can inform you better, if you'll allow him a Judge. Marpl. A Fool! I'll justifie she has more Wit than all the rest of her Sex put together; why she'll Rally me, till I han't one word to say for my self. Char. A mighty Proof of her Wit truly— Marpl. There must be some Trick in't, Sir George; Egad I'll find it out if it cost me the Sum you paid for't. Sir Geo. Do and Command me— Marpl. Enough, let me alone to Trace a Secret.— <div class = "entrance">Enter Whisper, and speaks aside to his Master.</div> The Devil! Whisper here agen, that Fellow never speaks out; is this the same, or a new Secret? Sir George, won't you ask Charles what News Whisper brings? Sir Geo. Not I, Sir; I suppose it does not relate to me. Marpl. Lord, Lord, how little Curiosity some People have! Now my chief Pleasure lies in knowing every Body's Business. Sir Geo. I fancy, Charles, thou hast some Engagement upon thy Hands: I have a little Business too. Marplot, if it falls in your way to bring me any Intelligence from Miranda, you'll find me at the Thatch'd House at Six— Marpl. You do me much Honour. Char. You guess right, Sir George, wish me Success. Sir Geo. Better than attended me. Adieu. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Char. Marplot, you must Excuse me.— 29 Marpl. Nay, nay, what need of any Excuse amongst Friends! I'll go with you. Char. Indeed you must not. Marpl. No, then I suppose 'tis a Duel, and I will go to secure ye. Char. Secure me, why you won't fight. Marpl. What then! I can call People to part ye. Char. Well, but it is no Duel, Consequently no Danger. Therefore prithee be Answer'd. Marpl. What is't a Mistress then?— Mum— You know I can be silent upon occasion. Char. I wish you cou'd be Civil too: I tell you, You neither Must nor Shall go with me. Farewel. <div class = "stagedir">(Exit.</div> Marpl. Why then— I Must and Will follow you. <div class = "stagedir">Exit.</div> <div class = "scene">The End of the Second Act.</div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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