Chapter VI: Act I: SCENE The Park (2)

_Isab._ Well, Sir, if I may judge your Love by your Courage, I ought to believe you sincere; for you venture into the Lyons Den when you come to see me.

_Char._ If you'd consent whilst the furious Beast is abroad, I'd free you from the Reach of his Paws.

_Isab._ That wou'd be but to avoid one Danger, by running into another; like the poor Wretches, who fly the Burning Ship, and meet their Fate in the Water. Come, come, _Charles_, I fear if I consult my Reason, Confinement and Plenty is better than Liberty and Starving. I know you'd make the Frolick pleasing for a little time, by Saying and Doing a World of tender things; but when our small Substance is once Exhausted, and a Thousand Requisits for Life are Wanting; Love, who rarely dwells with Poverty, wou'd also fail us.

_Char._ Faith, I fancy not; methinks my Heart has laid up a Stock will last for Life; to back which, I have taken a Thousand Pound upon my Uncle's Estate; that surely will support us, till one of our Fathers relent.

_Isab._ There's no trusting to that my Friend, I doubt your Father will carry his Humour to the Grave, and mine till he sees me settled in _Spain_.

_Char._ And can ye then cruelly Resolve to stay till that curs'd _Don_ arrives, and suffer that Youth, Beauty, Fire and Wit, to be sacrific'd to the Arms of a dull _Spaniard_, to be Immur'd and forbid the Sight of any thing that's Humane.

_Isab._ No, when it comes to the Extremity, and no Stratagem can Relieve us, thou shalt List for a Soldier, and I'll carry thy Knapsack after thee.

_Char._ Bravely Resolv'd; the World cannot be more Savage than our Parents, and Fortune generally assists the Bold; therefore Consent now: Why shou'd we put it to a future Hazard? who knows when we shall have another Opportunity?

_Isab._ Oh, you have your Ladder of Ropes, I suppose, and the Closet Window stands just where it did; and if you han't forgot to write in Characters, _Patch_ will find a way for our Assignations. Thus much of the _Spanish_ Contrivance, my Father's Severity has taught me, I thank him; tho' I hate the Nation, I admire their Management in these Affairs.

_Enter _Patch_._

_Patch._ Oh, Madam, I see my Master coming up the Street.

_Char._ Oh the Devil, wou'd I had my Ladder now; I thought you had not expected him till Night; why, why, why, why; what shall I do, Madam?

_Isab._ Oh, for Heaven's sake! don't go that way, you'll meet him full in the Teeth: Oh unlucky Moment!--

_Char._ Adsheart, can you shut me into no Cupboard, Ram me into no Chest, ha?

_Patch._ Impossible, Sir, he Searches every Hole in the House.

_Isab._ Undone for ever! if he sees you, I shall never see you more.

_Patch._ I have thought on't: Run you to your Chamber, Madam; and Sir, come you along with me, I'm certain you may easily get down from the Balcone.

_Char._ My Life, _Adieu_--Lead on, Guide.
(_Exit._

_Isab._ Heaven preserve him.
(_Exit._

SCENE Changes to the Street.

_Enter Sir _Jealous_, with _Marplot_ behind him_._

Sir _Jeal._ I don't know what's the matter; but I have a strong Suspicion, all is not right within; that Fellow's sauntring about my Door, and his Tale of a Puppy, had the Face of a Lye, methought. By St. _Jago_, if I shou'd find a Man in the House, I'd make Mince-Meat of him--

_Marpl._ Ah, poor _Charles_--ha? Agad he is old--I fancy I might bully him, and make _Charles_ have an Opinion of my Courage.

Sir _Jeal._ My own Key shall let me in; I'll give them no Warning.
(_Feeling for his Key._

_Marpl._ What's that you say, Sir. (_Going up to Sir _Jealous_._

Sir _Jeal._ What's that to you, Sir. (_Turns quick upon him._

_Marpl._ Yes, 'tis to me, Sir; for the Gentleman you threaten is a very honest Gentleman. Look to't, for if he comes not as safe out of your House, as he went in, I have half a Dozen _Mirmidons_ hard-by shall beat it about your Ears.

Sir _Jeal._ Went in; what is he in then? Ah! a Combination to undo me--I'll _Mirmidon_ you, ye Dog you--Thieves, Thieves. (_Beat_'s Marplot_ all this while he cries _Thieves_._

_Marpl._ Murder, Murder; I was not in your House, Sir.

_Enter Servant._

_Serv._ What's the matter, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ The Matter, Rascals? Have you let a Man into my House; but I'll flea him Alive, follow me, I'll not leave a Mousehole unsearch'd; if I find him, by St. _Jago_, I'll Equip him for the _Opera._ (_Exit._

_Marpl._ A Duce of his Cane, there's no trusting to Age--what shall I do to Relieve _Charles!_ Egad, I'll raise the Neighbourhood--Murder, Murder-- (__Charles_ drops down upon him from the Balcone._) _Charles_ faith I'm glad to see thee safe out, with all my Heart.

_Char._ A Pox of your Bawling: How the Devil came you here?

_Marpl._ Here, gad I have done you a piece of Service; I told the old Thunderbolt, that the Gentleman that was gone in was--

_Char._ Was it you that told him, Sir? (_Laying hold of him._) Z'death, I cou'd crush thee into Atoms. (_Exit _Charles_._

_Marpl._ What will you choak me for my Kindness?--will my Enquiring Soul never leave Searching into other Peoples Affairs, till it gets squeez'd out of my Body? I dare not follow him now, for my Blood, he's in such a Passion--I'll to _Miranda_; if I can discover ought that may oblige Sir _George_, it may be a means to Reconcile me agen to _Charles_. (_Exit._

_Enter Sir _Jealous_ and _Servants_._

Sir _Jeal._ Are you sure you have search'd every where?

_Serv._ Yes, from the Top of the House to the Bottom.

Sir _Jeal._ Under the Beds, and over the Beds?

_Serv._ Yes, and in them too, but found no Body, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ Why, what cou'd this Rogue mean?

_Enter _Isabinda_ and _Patch_._

_Patch._ Take Courage, Madam, I saw him safe out. (_Aside to _Isab_._

_Isab._ Bless me! what's the matter, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ You know best--Pray where's the Man that was here just now?

_Isab._ What Man, Sir? I saw none!

_Patch._ Nor I, by the Trust you repose in me; do you think I wou'd let a Man come within these Doors, when you were absent?

Sir _Jeal._ Ah _Patch_, she may be too cunning for thy Honesty; the very Scout that he had set to give Warning discover'd it to me--and threaten'd me with half a Dozen _Mirmidons_--But I think I maul'd the Villain. These Afflictions you draw upon me, Mistress!

_Isab._ Pardon me, Sir, 'tis your own Ridiculous Humour draws you into these Vexations, and gives every Fool pretence to banter you.

Sir _Jeal._ No, 'tis your Idle Conduct, your Coquetish Flurting into the Balcone--Oh with what Joy shall I resign thee into the Arms of Don _Diego Babinetto!_

_Isab._ And with what Industry shall I avoid him!
(_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Certainly that Rogue had a Message from some body or other; but being baulk'd by my coming, popt that Sham upon me. Come along, ye Sots, let's see if we can find the Dog again. _Patch_, lock her up; D'ye hear? (_Exit with Servants._

_Patch._ Yes, Sir--ay, walk till your Heels ake, you'll find no Body, I promise you.

_Isab._ Who cou'd that Scout be, which he talks of?

_Patch._ Nay, I can't imagine, without it was _Whisper_.

_Isab._ Well, dear _Patch_, let's employ all our Thoughts how to escape this horrid Don _Diego_, my very Heart sinks at his Terrible Name.

_Patch._ Fear not, Madam, Don _Carlo_ shall be the Man, or I'll lose the Reputation of Contriving, and then what's a Chambermaid good for?

_Isab._ Say'st thou so, my Girl: Then--
_Let Dad be Jealous, multiply his Cares,
While Love instructs me to avoid the Snares;
I'll, spight of all his _Spanish_ Caution, show
How much for Love a _British_ Maid can do._
(Exit.

SCENE _Sir _Francis Gripe_'s House._

_Sir _Francis_ and _Miranda_ meeting._

_Miran._ Well, _Gardee_, how did I perform my Dumb Scene?

Sir _Fran._ To Admiration--Thou dear little Rogue, let me buss thee for it: Nay, adod, I will, _Chargee_, so muzle, and tuzle, and hug thee; I will, I faith, I will. (_Hugging and Kissing her._

_Miran._ Nay, _Gardee_, don't be so lavish; who wou'd Ride Post, when the Journey lasts for Life?

Sir _Fran._ Ah wag, ah wag--I'll buss thee agen for that.

_Miran._ Faugh! how he stinks of Tobacco! what a delicate Bedfellow I shou'd have! (_Aside._

Sir _Fran._ Oh I'm Transported! When, when, my Dear, wilt thou Convince the World of thy Happy Day? when shall we marry, ha?

_Miran._ There's nothing wanting but your Consent, Sir _Francis_.

Sir _Fran._ My Consent! what do's my Charmer mean?

_Miran._ Nay, 'tis only a Whim: But I'll have every thing according to form--Therefore when you sign an Authentick Paper, drawn up by an able Lawyer, that I have your Leave to marry, the next Day makes me yours, _Gardee_.

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, a Whim indeed! why is it not Demonstration I give my Leave when I marry thee.

_Miran._ Not for your Reputation, _Gardee_; the malicious World will be apt to say, you trick'd me into Marriage, and so take the Merit from my Choice. Now I will have the Act my own, to let the idle Fops see how much I prefer a Man loaded with Years and Wisdom.

Sir _Fran._ Humph! Prithee leave out Years, _Chargee_, I'm not so old, as thou shalt find: Adod, I'm young; there's a Caper for ye. (_Jumps_.

_Miran._ Oh never excuse it, why I like you the better for being old--But I shall suspect you don't love me, if you Refuse me this Formality.

Sir _Fran._ Not Love thee, _Chargee!_ Adod I do love thee better than, than, than, better than--what shall I say? Egad, better than Money, I faith I do--

_Miran._ That's false I'm sure (_Aside._) To prove it do this then.

Sir _Fran._ Well, I will do it, _Chargee_, provided I bring a License at the same time.

_Miran._ Ay, and a Parson too, if you please; Ha, ha, ha, I can't help Laughing to think how all the young Coxcombs about Town will be mortify'd when they hear of our Marriage.

Sir _Fran._ So they will, so they will; Ha, ha, ha.

_Miran._ Well, I fancy I shall be so happy with my _Gardee!_

Sir _Fran._ If wearing Pearls and Jewels, or eating Gold, as the old Saying is, can make thee happy, thou shalt be so, my Sweetest, my Lovely, my Charming, my--verily I know not what to call thee.

_Miran._ You must know, _Gardee_, that I am so eager to have this Business concluded, that I have employ'd my Womans Brother, who is a Lawyer in the _Temple_, to settle Matters just to your Liking, you are to give your Consent to my Marriage, which is to your self, you know: But Mum, you must take up notice of that. So then I will, that is, with your Leave, put my Writings into his Hands; then to Morrow we come slap upon them with a Wedding, that no body thought on; by which you seize me and my Estate, and I suppose make a Bonfire of your own Act and Deed.

Sir _Fran._ Nay, but _Chargee_, if--

_Miran._ Nay, _Gardee_, no Ifs--Have I refus'd three _Northern_ Lords, two _British_ Peers, and half a score Knights, to have you put in your Ifs?--

Sir _Fran._ So thou hast indeed, and I will trust to thy Management. Od, I'm all of a Fire.

_Miran._ 'Tis a wonder the dry Stubble does not blaze.

_Enter _Marplot_._

Sir _Fran._ How now! who sent for you, Sir? What's the Hundred Pound gone already?

_Marpl._ No, Sir, I don't want Money now.

Sir _Fran._ No, that's a Miracle! But there's one thing you want, I'm sure.

_Marpl._ Ay, what's that, _Guardian?_

Sir _Fran._ Manners, what had I no Servants without?

_Marpl._ None that cou'd do my Business, _Guardian_, which is at present with this Lady.

_Miran._ With me, Mr. _Marplot!_ what is it, I beseech you?

Sir _Fran._ Ay, Sir, what is it? any thing that relates to her may be deliver'd to me.

_Marpl._ I deny that.

_Miran._ That's more than I do, Sir.

_Marpl._ Indeed, Madam, why then to proceed: Fame says, that you and my most Conscionable _Guardian_ here, design'd, contriv'd, plotted and agreed to chouse a very civil, honourable, honest Gentleman, out of a Hundred Pound.

_Miran._ That I contrived it!

_Marpl._ Ay you--You said never a Word against it, so far you are Guilty.

Sir _Fran._ Pray tell that civil, honourable, honest Gentleman, that if he has any more such Sums to fool away, they shall be received like the last; Ha, ha, ha, ha, chous'd, quotha! But hark ye, let him know at the same time, that if he dare to report I trick'd him of it, I shall recommend a Lawyer to him shall shew him a Trick for twice as much; D'ye hear, tell him that.

_Marpl._ So, and this is the way you use a Gentleman, and my Friend.

_Miran._ Is the Wretch thy Friend?

_Marpl._ The Wretch! Look ye, Madam, don't call Names; Egad I won't take it.

_Miran._ Why you won't beat me, will you? Ha, ha.

_Marpl._ I don't know whether I will or no.

Sir _Fran._ Sir, I shall make a Servant shew you out at the Window if you are sawcy.

_Marpl._ I am your most humble Servant, _Guardian_; I design to go out the same way I came in. I wou'd only ask this Lady, if she do's not think in her Soul Sir _George Airy_ is not a fine Gentleman.

_Miram._ He Dresses well.

Sir _Fran._ Which is chiefly owing to his Taylor, and _Valet de Chamber_.

_Miran._ And if you allow that a proof of his being a fine Gentleman, he is so.

_Marpl._ The judicious part of the World allow him Wit, Courage, Gallantry and Management; tho' I think he forfeited that Character, when he flung away a Hundred Pound upon your Dumb Ladyship.

Sir _Fran._ Does that gaul him? Ha, ha, ha.

_Miran._ So, Sir _George_ remaining in deep Discontent, has sent you his trusty Squire, to utter his Complaint: Ha, ha, ha.

_Marpl._ Yes, Madam; and you, like a cruel, hard-hearted Jew, value it no more--than I wou'd your Ladyship, were I Sir _George_, you, you, you--

_Miran._ Oh, don't call Names. I know you love to be employ'd, and I'll oblige you; and you shall carry him a Message from me.

_Marpl._ According as I like it: What is it?

_Miran._ Nay, a kind one you may be sure--First tell him, I have chose this Gentleman to have, and to hold, and so forth. (_Clapping her Hand into Sir _Francis_'s._

Sir _Fran._ Oh the dear Rogue, how I dote on her!
(_Aside._

_Miran._ And advise his Impertinence to trouble me no more, for I prefer Sir _Francis_ for a Husband before all the Fops in the Universe.

_Marpl._ Oh Lord, Oh Lord! She's bewitch'd, that's certain; Here's a Husband for Eighteen--Here's a Shape--Here's Bones ratling in a Leathern Bag. (_Turning Sir _Francis_ about._) Here's Buckram, and Canvass, to scrub you to Repentance.

Sir _Fran._ Sirrah, my Cane shall teach you Repentance presently.

_Marpl._ No faith, I have felt its Twin-Brother from just such a wither'd Hand too lately.

_Miran._ One thing more, advise him to keep from the Garden Gate on the left Hand; for if he dares to saunter there, about the Hour of Eight, as he used to do, he shall be saluted with a Pistol or a Blunderbuss.

_Sir Fran._ Oh monstrous! why _Chargee_; did he use to come to the Garden Gate?

_Miran._ The Gardner describ'd just such another Man that always watch'd his coming out, and fain wou'd have bribed him for his Entrance--tell him he shall find a warm Reception if he comes this Night.

_Marpl._ Pistols and Blunderbusses! Egad, a warm Reception indeed; I shall take care to inform him of your Kindness, and advise him to keep farther off.

_Miran._ I hope he will understand my Meaning better, than to follow your Advice. (_Aside._

Sir _Fran._ Thou hast sign'd, seal'd, and ta'en Possession of my Heart; for ever, _Chargee_, Ha, ha, ha; and for you, Mr. Sauce-box, let me have no more of your Messages, if ever you design to inherit your Estate, Gentleman.

_Marpl._ Why there 'tis now. Sure I shall be out of your Clutches one Day.--Well, _Guardian_, I say no more; but if you be not as errant a Cuckold, as e're drove Bargain upon the Exchange, or paid Attendance to a Court; I am the Son of a Whetstone; and so your humble Servant. (_Exit._

_Miran._ Don't forget the Message; Ha, ha.

Sir _Fran._ I am so provok'd!--'tis well he's gone.

_Miran._ Oh mind him not, _Gardee_, but let's sign Articles, and then--

Sir _Fran._ And then--Adod, I believe I am Metamorphos'd; my Pulse beats high, and my Blood boils, methinks-- (_Kissing and Hugging her._

_Miran._ Oh fye, _Gardee_, be not so violent; Consider the Market lasts all the Year--Well, I'll in and see if the Lawyer be come, you'll follow. (_Exit._

Sir _Fran._ Ay, to the World's End, my Dear. Well, _Franck_, thou art a lucky Fellow in thy old Age, to have such a delicate Morsel, and Thirty Thousand Pound in love with thee; I shall be the Envy of Batchelors, the Glory of Marry'd Men, and the Wonder of the Town. Some Guardians wou'd be glad to compound for part of the Estate, at dispatching an Heiress, but I engross the whole: _O! Mihi præteritos referet si Jupiter Annos._ (Exit.

SCENE _Changes to a Tavern; discovers Sir _George_ and _Charles_ with Wine before them, and _Whisper_ waiting._

Sir _Geo._ Nay, prithee don't be Grave, _Charles;_ Misfortunes will happen: Ha, ha, ha, 'tis some Comfort to have a Companion in our Sufferings.

_Char._ I am only apprehensive for _Isabinda_, her Father's Humour is implacable; and how far his Jealousie may transport him to her Undoing, shocks my Soul to think.

Sir _Geo._ But since you escap'd undiscover'd by him, his Rage will quickly lash into a Calm, never fear it.

_Char._ But who knows what that unlucky Dog, _Marplot_, told him; nor can I imagine what brought him thither; that Fellow is ever doing Mischief; and yet, to give him his due, he never designs it. This is some Blundering Adventure, wherein he thought to shew his Friendship, as he calls it: A Curse on him.

Sir _Geo._ Then you must forgive him; what said he?

_Char._ Said! nay, I had more mind to cut his Throat, than hear his Excuses.

Sir _Geo._ Where is he?

_Whisp._ Sir, I saw him go into Sir _Francis Gripe_'s just now.

_Char._ Oh! then he is upon your Business, Sir _George_; a thousand to one, but he makes some Mistake there too.

Sir _Geo._ Impossible, without he huffs the Lady, and makes Love to Sir _Francis_.

_Enter Drawer._

_Draw._ Mr. _Marplot_ is below, Gentlemen, and desires to know if he may have Leave to wait upon ye.

_Char._ How civil the Rogue is when he has done a fault!

Sir _Geo._ Ho! Desire him to walk up. Prithee, _Charles_, throw off this Chagreen, and be good Company.

_Char._ Nay, hang him, I'm not angry with him. _Whisper_, fetch me Pen, Ink and Paper.

_Whisp._ Yes, Sir.

(_Ex. _Whisp_._

_Enter _Marplot_._

_Char._ Do but mark his sheepish Look, Sir _George_.

_Marpl._ Dear _Charles,_ don't o'erwhelm a Man--already under insupportable Affliction. I'm sure I always intend to serve my Friends; but if my malicious Stars deny the Happiness, is the fault mine?

Sir _Geo._ Never mind him, Mr. _Marplot_, he is eat up with Spleen. But tell me, what says _Miranda?_

_Marpl._ Says--nay, we are all undone there too.

_Char._ I told you so; nothing prospers that he undertakes.

_Marpl._ Why can I help her having chose your Father for Better for Worse?

_Char._ So: There's another of Fortune's Strokes; I suppose I shall be Edg'd out of my Estate, with Twins every Year, let who will get 'em.

Sir _Geo._ What is the Woman really Possest?

_Marpl._ Yes with the Spirit of Contradiction, she rail'd at you most prodigiously.

Sir _Geo._ That's no ill Sign.

_Enter _Whisper_, with Pen, Ink and Paper._

_Marpl._ You'd say it was no good Sign, if you knew all.

Sir _Geo._ Why, prithee?

_Marpl._ Hark'e, Sir _George_, Let me warn you, pursue your old Haunt no more, it may be dangerous. (Charles _sits down to write._

Sir _Geo._ My old Haunt, what d'you mean?

_Marpl._ Why in short then, since you will have it, _Miranda_ vows if you dare approach the Garden-Gate at Eight a Clock, as you us'd, you shall be saluted with a Blunderbuss, Sir. These were her Words; nay, she bid me tell you so too.

Sir _George_, Ha! The Garden-Gate at Eight, as I us'd to do! There must be a Meaning in this. Is there such a Gate, _Charles?_

_Char._ Yes, yes; it opens into the Park, I suppose her Ladyship has made many a Scamper through it.

Sir _Geo_. It must be an Assignation then. Ha, my Heart springs with Joy, 'tis a propitious Omen. My dear _Marplot_, let me embrace thee, thou art my Friend, my better Angel--

_Marpl._ What do you mean, Sir _George?_

Sir _Geo._ No matter what I mean. Here take a Bumper to the Garden-Gate, ye dear Rogue, you.

_Marpl._ You have Reason to be transported, Sir _George_; I have sav'd your Life.

Sir _Geo_. My Life! thou hast sav'd my Soul, Man. _Charles_, if thou do'st not pledge this Health, may'st thou never taste the Joys of Love.

_Char._ _Whisper_, be sure you take care how you deliver this (_gives him the Letter_) bring me the Answer to my Lodgings.

_Whisp._ I warrant you, Sir.
(_Exit._

_Marpl._ Whither does that Letter go?--Now dare I not ask for my Blood.

_Char._ Now I'm for you.

Sir _Geo._ To the Garden-Gate at the Hour of Eight, _Charles_, along, Huzza!

_Char._ I begin to conceive you.

_Marpl._ That's more than I do, Egad--to the Garden-Gate, Huzza, (_Drinks._) But I hope you design to keep far enough off on't, Sir _George_.

Sir _Geo._ Ay, ay, never fear that; she shall see I despise her Frowns, let her use her Blunderbuss against the next Fool, she shan't reach me with the Smoak, I warrant her, Ha, ha, ha.

_Marpl._ Ah, _Charles_, if you cou'd receive a Disappointment thus _En Cavalier_, one shou'd have some comfort in being beat for you.

_Char._ The Fool comprehends nothing.

Sir _Geo._ Nor wou'd I have him; prithee take him along with thee.

_Char._ Enough: _Marplot_, you shall go home with me.

_Marpl._ I'm glad I'm well with him however. Sir _George_, yours. Egad, _Charles_, asking me to go home with him, gives me a shrewd suspicion there's more in the Garden-Gate, than I comprehend. Faith, I'll give him the drop, and away to _Guardians_, and find it out.

Sir _Geo._ I kiss both your Hands--And now for the Garden-Gate.

_It's Beauty gives the Assignation there,_
_And Love too powerful grows t' admit of Fear._
(_Exit._

_The End of the Third Act._

ACT the Fourth.

SCENE the Out-side of Sir _Jealous Traffick_'s House, _Patch_ peeping out of Door.

_Enter _Whisper_._

_Whisp._ Ha, Mrs. _Patch_, this is a lucky Minute, to find you so readily, my Master dies with Impatience.

_Patch._ My Lady imagin'd so, and by her Orders I have been scouting this hour in search of you, to inform you that Sir _Jealous_ has invited some Friends to Supper with him to Night, which gives an Opportunity to your Master to make use of his Ladder of Ropes: The Closet Window shall be open, and _Isabinda_ ready to receive him; bid him come immediately.

_Whisp._ Excellent, He'll not disappoint I warrant him: But hold, I have a Letter here, which I'm to carry an Answer of: I can't think what Language the Direction is.

_Patch._ Pho, 'tis no Language, but a Character which the Lovers invented to avert Discovery: Ha, I hear my old Master coming down Stairs, it is impossible you shou'd have an Answer; away, and bid him come himself for that--begone we are ruined if you're seen, for he has doubl'd his Care since the last Accident.

_Whisp._ I go, I go.
[_Exit._

_Patch._ There, go thou into my Pocket. [_Puts it besides, and it falls down._] Now I'll up the back Stairs, lest I meet him. Well, a dexterous Chamber-maid is the Ladies best Utensil, I say. [_Exit._

_Enter Sir _Jealous_ with a Letter in his Hand._

Sir _Jeal._ So, this is some Comfort, this tells me that _Seignior Don Diego Babinetto_ is safely arriv'd, he shall marry my Daughter the Minute he comes, ha. What's here [_takes up the Letter _Patch_ drop'd_] a Letter! I don't know what to make of the Superscription. I'll see what's within side, [_opens it_] humph; 'tis _Hebrew_ I think. What can this mean. There must be some trick in it; this was certainly design'd for my Daughter, but I don't know that she can speak any Language but her Mother-Tongue. No matter for that, this may be one of Love's Hieroglyphicks, and I fancy I saw _Patch_'s Tail sweep by. That Wench may be a Slut, and instead of guarding my Honour, betray it; I'll find it out I'm resolv'd; who's there? What Answer did you bring from the Gentlemen I sent you to invite?

_Serv._ That they'd all wait of you, Sir, as I told you before, but I suppose you forget, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ Did I so, Sir, but I shan't forget to break your Head, if any of 'em come, Sir.

_Serv._ Come, Sir, why did not you send me to desire their Company, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ But I send you now to desire their Absence; say I have something extraordinary fallen out, which calls me abroad, contrary to Expectation, and ask their Pardon, and d'ye hear, send the Butler to me.

_Serv._ Yes, Sir.
[_Exit._

_Enter _Butler_._

Sir _Jeal._ If this Paper has a Meaning I'll find it. Lay the Cloath in my Daughter's Chamber, and bid the Cook send Supper thither presently.

_Butl._ Yes, Sir,--hey day, what's the Matter now?
[_Exit._

Sir _Jeal._ He wants the Eyes of _Argus_, that has a young handsome Daughter in this Town, but my Comfort is, I shall not be troubl'd long with her. He that pretends to rule a Girl once in her Teens, had better be at Sea in a Storm, and would be in less Danger. _For let him do, or Counsel all he can,_ _She thinks and dreams of nothing else but Man._ [_Exit._

SCENE _Isabinda_'s Chamber, _Isabinda_ and _Patch_.

_Isab._ Are you sure, no Body saw you speak to _Whisper?_

_Patch._ Yes, very sure Madam, but I heard Sir _Jealous_ coming down Stairs, so I clap'd this Letter into my Pocket. (_Feels for the Letter._

_Isab._ A Letter! give it me quickly.

_Patch._ Bless me! what's become on't--I'm sure I put it--
(_Searching still._

_Isab._ Is it possible, thou could'st be so Careless--Oh! I'm undone for ever if it be lost.

_Patch._ I must have drop'd it upon the Stairs. But why are you so much alarm'd, if the worst happens no body can read it, Madam, nor find out whom it was design'd for.

_Isab._ If it falls into my Father's Hands the very Figure of a Letter will produce ill Consequences. Run and look for it upon the Stairs this Moment.

_Patch._ Nay, I'm sure it can be no where else.-- (_As she's going out of the Door meets the Butler._) How now, what do you want?

_Butl._ My Master order'd me to lay the Cloth here for his Supper.

_Isab._ Ruin'd past Redemption--
(_Aside._

_Patch._ You mistake sure; what shall we do?

_Isab._ I thought he expected Company to Night--Oh! poor _Charles_--Oh! unfortunate _Isabinda_.

_Butl._ I thought so too Madam, but I suppose he has alter'd his Mind.
(_Lays the Cloth, and Exit._

_Isab._ The Letter is the Cause; this heedless Action has undone me: Fly and fasten the Closet-window, which will give _Charles_ notice to retire. Ha, my Father, oh! Confusion.

_Enter Sir _Jealous_._

Sir _Jeal._ Hold, hold, _Patch_, whither are you going. I'll have no body stir out of the Room till after Supper.

_Patch._ Sir, I was only going to reach your easie Chair--Oh! wretched Accident!

Sir _Jeal._ I'll have no body stir out of the Room. I don't want my easie Chair.

_Isab._ What will be the event of this? (_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Hark ye Daughter, do you know this Hand?

_Isab._ As I suspected--Hand do you call it, Sir? 'Tis some School-boy's Scraul.

_Patch._ Oh! Invention, thou Chamber-maid's best Friend, assist me.
(_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Are you sure you don't understand it?

(_Patch._ _Feels in her Bosom, and shakes her Coats._)

_Isab._ Do you understand it, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ I wish I did.

_Isab._ Thank Heaven you do not. (_aside_) Then I know no more of it than you do indeed, Sir.

_Patch._ Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have you done, Sir? Why the Paper is mine, I drop'd it out of my Bosom. (_Snatching it from him._

Sir _Jeal._ Ha! yours, Mistress.

_Isab._ What does she mean by owning it.
(_Aside._

_Patch._ Yes, Sir, it is.

Sir _Jeal._ What is it? Speak.

_Patch._ Why, Sir, it is a Charm for the Tooth-ach--I have worn it this seven Year, 'twas given me by an Angel for ought I know, when I was raving with the Pain; for no body knew from whence he came, nor whither he went, he charg'd me never to open it, lest some dire Vengeance befal me, and Heaven knows what will be the Event. Oh! cruel Misfortune that I should drop it, and you should open it--If you had not open'd it--

_Isab._ Excellent Wench.
(_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Pox of your Charms, and Whims for me, if that be all 'tis well enough; there, there, burn it, and I warrant you no Vengeance will follow.

_Patch._ So, all's right again thus far.
(_Aside._

_Isab._ I would not lose _Patch_ for the World--I'll take courage a little. (_aside_) Is this Usage for your Daughter, Sir, must my Virtue and Conduct be suspected? For every Trifle, you immure me like some dire Offender here, and deny me all Recreations which my Sex enjoy, and the Custom of the Country and Modesty allow; yet not content with that you make my Confinement more intolerable by your Mistrusts and Jealousies; wou'd I were dead, so I were free from this. (_Weeps._

Sir _Jeal._ To morrow rids you of this tiresome Load,--_Don Diego Babinetto_ will be here, and then my Care ends and his begins.

_Isab._ Is he come then! Oh how shall I avoid this hated Marriage?
(_Aside._

_Enter Servants with Supper._

Sir _Jeal._ Come will you sit down?

_Isab._ I can't eat, Sir.

_Patch._ No, I dare swear he has given her Supper enough. I wish I cou'd get into the Closet-- (_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Well, if you can't eat, then give me a Song whilst I do.

_Isab._ I have such a Cold I can scarce speak, Sir, much less sing. How shall I prevent _Charles_ coming in. (_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ I hope you have the Use of your Fingers, Madam. Play a Tune upon your _Spinnet_, whilst your Woman sings me a Song.

_Patch._ I'm as much out of Tune as my Lady, if he knew all.
(_Aside._

_Isab._ I shall make excellent Musick. (_Sits down to play._

_Patch._ Really, Sir, I'm so frighted about your opening this Charm, that I can't remember one Song.

Sir _Jeal._ Pish, hang your Charm; come, come, sing any thing.

_Patch._ Yes, I'm likely to sing truly (_aside_) humph, humph, bless me, Sir, I cannot raise my Voice, my Heart pants so.

Sir _Jeal._ Why, what does your Heart pant so that you can't play neither? Pray what Key are you in, ha?

_Patch._ Ah, wou'd the Key was turn'd of you once.
(_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Why don't you sing, I say!

_Patch._ When Madam has put her _Spinnet_ in Tune, Sir, humph, humph.--

_Isab._ I cannot play, Sir, whatever ails me.
(_Rising._

Sir _Jeal._ Zounds sit down, and play me a Tune, or I'll break the _Spinnet_ about your Ears.

_Isab._ What will become of me?
(_Sits down and plays._

Sir _Jeal._ Come, Mistress.
(_To_ Patch

_Patch._ Yes, Sir.
(_Sings, but horribly out of Tune._

Sir _Jeal._ Hey, hey, why you are a top of the House, and you are down in the Cellar. What is the meaning of this? Is it on purpose to cross me, ha?

_Patch._ Pray Madam, take it a little lower, I cannot reach that Note--nor any Note I fear.

_Isab._ Well, begin--Oh! _Patch_ we shall be discover'd.

_Patch._ I sink with the Apprehension, Madam,--humph, humph-- (_Sings_)

(__Charles_ pulls open the Closet Door._

_Char._ Musick and Singing
_'Tis thus the bright Coelestial Court above,_
_Beguiles the Hours with Musick and with Love._
Death! her Father there, (_The Women shriek_) then I must fly--
(_Exit into the Closet_)

(_Sir _Jealous_ rises up hastily, seeing _Charles_ slip back into
the Closet._

Sir _Jeal._ Hell and Furies, a Man in the Closet--

_Patch._ Ah! a Ghost, a Ghost--he must not enter the Closet--
(Isabinda _throws her self down before the Closet-door as in
a Sound._

Sir _Jeal._ The Devil! I'll make a Ghost of him I warrant you.
(_Strives to get by._

_Patch._ Oh hold, Sir, have a care, you'l tread upon my Lady-- who waits there? Bring some Water: Oh! this comes of your opening the Charm: Oh, oh, oh, oh. (_Weeps aloud._

Sir _Jeal._ I'll Charm you, House-wife, here lies the Charm, that conjur'd this Fellow in I'm sure on't, come out you Rascal, do so: Zounds take her from the Door, or I'll spurn her from it, and break your Neck down Stairs.

_Isab._ Oh, oh, where am I--He's gone, I heard him leap down.
(_Aside to _Patch_._

_Patch._ Nay, then let him enter--here, here Madam, smell to this; come give me your Hand; come nearer to the Window, the Air will do you good.

Sir _Jeal._ I wou'd she were in her Grave. Where are you, Sirrah, Villain, Robber of my Honour; I'll pull you out of your Nest. (_Goes into the Closet._

_Patch._ You'l be mistaken, old Gentleman, the Bird is flown.

_Isab._ I'm glad I have 'scap'd so well. I was almost dead in earnest with the Fright.

_Re-enter Sir _Jealous_ out of the Closet._

Sir _Jeal._ Whoever the Dog were he has escap'd out of the Window, for the Sash is up. But tho' he is got out of my Reach, you are not: And first Mrs. _Pandor_, with your Charms for Tooth-ach, get out of my House, go, troop; yet hold, stay, I'll see you out of my Doors my self, but I'll secure your Charge e'er I go.

_Isab._ What do you mean, Sir? Was she not a Creature of your own providing?

Sir _Jeal._ She was of the Devil's providing for ought I know.

_Patch._ What have I done, Sir to merit your Displeasure?

Sir _Jeal._ I don't know which of you have done it; but you shall both suffer for it, till I can discover whose Guilt it is: Go get in there, I'll move you from this side of the House (_Pushes _Isabinda_ in at the other Door, and locks it; puts the Key in his Pocket._) I'll keep the Key my self: I'll try what Ghost will get into that Room. And now forsooth I'll wait on you down Stairs.

_Patch._ Ah, my poor Lady--Down Stairs, Sir, but I won't go out, Sir, till I have look'd up my Cloaths.

Sir _Jeal._ If thou wer't as naked as thou wer't born, thou should'st not stay to put on a Smock. Come along, I say, when your Mistress is marry'd you shall have your Rags, and every thing that belongs to you; but till then-- (_Exit, pulling her out._

_Patch._ Oh! barbarous Usage for nothing.

_Re-enter at the lower Door._

Sir _Jeal._ There, go, and, come no more within sight of my Habitation, these three Days, I charge you. (_Slaps the Door after her._

_Patch._ Did ever any Body see such an old Monster!

_Enter _Charles_._

_Patch._ Oh! Mr. _Charles_ your Affairs and mine are in an ill Posture.

_Char._ I am immur'd to the Frowns of Fortune: But what has befal'n thee?

_Patch._ Sir _Jealous_, whose suspicious Nature's always on the Watch; nay, even whilst one Eye sleeps, the other keeps Sentinel: Upon sight of you, flew into such a violent Passion, that I cou'd find no Stratagem to appease him, but in spight of all Arguments, lock'd his Daughter into his own Apartment, and turn'd me out of Doors.

_Char._ Ha! oh, _Isabinda_.

_Patch._ And swears she shall neither see Sun nor Moon, till she is _Don Diego Babinetto_'s Wife, who arrived last Night, and is expected with impatience.

_Char._ He dies, yes, by all the Wrongs of Love he shall; here will I plant my self, and thro' my Breast he shall make his Passage, if he enters.

_Patch._ A most heroick Resolution. There might be ways found out more to your Advantage. Policy is often preferr'd to open force.

_Char._ I apprehend you not.

_Patch._ What think you of personating this _Spaniard_, imposing upon the Father, and marrying your Mistress by his own Consent.

_Char._ Say'st thou so my Angel! Oh cou'd that be done, my Life to come wou'd be too short to recompence thee: But how can I do that, when I neither know what Ship he came in, nor from what part of _Spain_; who recommends him, nor how attended.

_Patch._ I can solve all this. He is from _Madrid_, his Father's Name _Don Pedro Questo Portento Babinetto_. Here's a Letter of his to Sir _Jealous_, which he drop'd one Day; you understand _Spanish_, and the Hand may be counterfeited: You conceive me, Sir.

_Char._ My better Genius, thou hast reviv'd my drooping Soul: I'll about it instantly. Come to my Lodgings, and we'll concert Matters.

(_Exeunt._

SCENE a Garden Gate open, _Scentwell_ waiting within.

_Enter Sir _George Airy_._

Sir _Geo._ So, this is the Gate, and most invitingly open: If there shou'd be a Blunderbuss here now, what a dreadful Ditty wou'd my Fall make for Fools; and what a Jest for the Wits; how my Name wou'd be roar'd about Streets. Well I'll venture all.

_Scentw._ Hist, hist, Sir _George Airy_--
(_Enters._

Sir _Geo._ A Female Voice, thus far I'm safe, my Dear.

_Scentw._ No, I'm not your Dear, but I'll conduct you to her, give me your Hand; you must go thro' many a dark Passage and dirty Step before you arrive--

Sir _Geo._ I know I must before I arrive at Paradise; therefore be quick my charming Guide.

_Scentw._ For ought you know; come, come your Hand and away.

Sir _Geo._ Here, here Child, you can't be half so swift as my Desires.

(_Exeunt._

SCENE the House.

_Enter _Miranda_._

_Miran._ Well, let me reason a little with my mad self. Now don't I transgress all Rules to venture upon a Man, without the Advice of the Grave and Wise; but then a rigid knavish Guardian who wou'd have marry'd me. To whom? Even to his nauseous self, or no Body: Sir _George_ is what I have try'd in Conversation, inquir'd into his Character, am satisfied in both. Then his Love; who wou'd have given a hundred Pound only to have seen a Woman he had not infinitely loved? So I find my liking him has furnish'd me with Arguments enough of his side; and now the only Doubt remains whether he will come or no.

_Enter _Scentwell_._

_Scentw._ That's resolv'd, Madam, for here's the Knight.
_Exit_ Scentwell.

Sir _Geo._ And do I once more behold that lovely Object, whose Idea fills my Mind, and forms my pleasing Dreams!

_Miran._ What beginning again in Heroicks!--Sir _George_, don't you remember how little Fruit your last Prodigal Oration produced, not one bare single Word in answer.

Sir _Geo._ Ha! the Voice of my _Incognita_--Why did you take Ten Thousand ways to captivate a Heart your Eyes alone had vanquish'd?

_Miran._ Prithee, no more of these Flights; for our Time's but short, and we must fall into Business: Do you think we can agree on that same terrible Bugbear, _Matrimony_, without heartily Repenting on both sides.

Sir _Geo._ It has been my wish since first my longing Eyes beheld ye.

_Miran._ And your happy Ears drank in the pleasing News, I had Thirty Thousand Pound.

Sir _Geo._ Unkind! Did I not offer you in those purchas'd Minutes to run the Risque of your Fortune, so you wou'd but secure that lovely Person to my Arms.

_Miran._ Well, if you have such Love and Tenderness, (since our Woing has been short) pray reserve it for our future Days, to let the World see we are Lovers after Wedlock; 'twill be a Novelty--

Sir _Geo._ Haste then, and let us tye the Knot, and prove the envy'd Pair--

_Miran._ Hold! not so fast, I have provided better than to venture on dangerous Experiments headlong--My _Guardian_, trusting to my dissembled Love, has given up my Fortune to my own dispose; but with this _Proviso_, that he to Morrow morning weds me. He is now gone to _Doctors Commons_ for a License.

Sir _Geo._ Ha, a License!

_Miran._ But I have planted Emissaries that infallibly take him down to _Epsom_, under pretence that a Brother Usurer of his, is to make him his Executor; the thing on Earth he covets.

Sir _Geo._ 'Tis his known Character.

_Miran._ Now my Instruments confirm him, this Man is dying, and he sends me word he goes this Minute; it must be to Morrow e'er he can be undeceiv'd. That time is ours.

Sir _Geo._ Let us improve it then, and settle on our coming Years, endless, endless Happiness.

_Miran._ I dare not stir till I hear he's on the Road--then I and my Writings, the most material point, are soon removed.

Sir _Geo._ I have one Favour to ask, if it lies in your power, you wou'd be a Friend to poor _Charles_, tho' the Son of this tenacious Man: He is as free from all his Vices, as Nature and a good Education can make him; and what now I have vanity enough to hope will induce you, he is the Man on Earth I love.

_Miran._ I never was his Enemy, and only put it on as it help'd my Designs on his Father. If his Uncle's Estate ought to be in his Possession, which I shrewdly suspect, I may do him a singular piece of Service.

Sir _Geo._ You are all Goodness.

_Enter _Scentwell_._

_Scentw._ Oh, Madam, my Master and Mr. _Marplot_ are just coming into the House.

_Miran._ Undone, undone! if he finds you here in this Crisis, all my Plots are unravell'd.

Sir _Geo._ What shall I do! can't I get back into the Garden?

_Scentw._ Oh, no! he comes up those Stairs.

_Miran._ Here, here, here! can you condescend to stand behind this Chimney-Board, Sir _George?_

Sir _Geo._ Any where, any where, dear Madam, without Ceremony.

_Scentw._ Come, come, Sir; lie close--
(_They put him behind the Chimney-Board._

_Enter Sir _Francis_ and _Marplot_: Sir _Francis_ peeling an Orange_._

Sir _Fran._ I cou'd not go, tho' 'tis upon Life and Death, without taking leave of dear _Chargee_. Besides, this Fellow buz'd in my Ears, that thou might'st be so desperate to shoot that wild Rake which haunts the Garden-Gate; and that wou'd bring us into Trouble, dear--

_Miran._ So, _Marplot_ brought you back then: I am oblig'd to him for that, I'm sure-- (_Frowning at _Marplot_ aside._

_Marpl._ By her Looks she means she is not oblig'd to me. I have done some Mischief now, but what I can't imagine.

Sir _Fran._ Well, _Chargee_, I have had three Messengers to come to _Epsom_ to my Neighbour _Squeezum_'s who, for all his vast Riches, is departing. (_Sighs._

_Marpl._ Ay, see what all you Usurers must come to.

Sir _Fran._ Peace, ye young Knave! Some Forty Years hence I may think on't--But, _Chargee_, I'll be with thee to Morrow, before those pretty Eyes are open; I will, I will, _Chargee_, I'll rouze you, I saith.--Here Mrs. _Scentwell_, lift up your Lady's Chimney-Board, that I may throw my Peel in, and not litter her Chamber.

_Miran._ Oh my Stars! what will become of us now?

_Scentw._ Oh, pray Sir, give it me; I love it above all things in Nature, indeed I do.

Sir _Fran._ No, no, Hussy; you have the Green Pip already, I'll have no more Apothecary's Bills. (_Goes towards the Chimney._

_Miran._ Hold, hold, hold, dear _Gardee_, I have a, a, a, a, a Monkey shut up there; and if you open it before the Man comes that is to tame it, 'tis so wild 'twill break all my China, or get away, and that wou'd break my Heart; for I am fond on't to Distraction, next thee, dear _Gardee_. (_In a flattering Tone._

Sir _Fran._ Well, well, _Chargee_, I wont open it; she shall have her Monkey, poor Rogue; here throw this Peel out of the Window.

(_Exit _Scentwell_._

_Marpl._ A Monkey, dear Madam, let me see it; I can tame a Monkey as well as the best of them all. Oh how I love the little Minatures of Man.

_Miran._ Be quiet, Mischief, and stand farther from the Chimney--You shall not see my Monkey--why sure-- (_Striving with him._

_Marpl._ For Heaven's sake, dear Madam, let me but peep, to see if it be as pretty as my Lady _Fiddle-Faddle_'s. Has it got a Chain?

_Miran._ Not yet, but I design it one shall last its Life-time: Nay, you shall not see it--Look, _Gardee_, how he teazes me!

Sir _Fran._ (_Getting between him and the Chimney._) Sirrah, Sirrah, let my _Chargee_'s Monkey alone, or _Bambo_ shall fly about your Ears. What is there no dealing with you?

_Marpl._ Pugh, pox of the Monkey! here's a Rout: I wish he may Rival you.

_Enter a Servant._

_Serv._ Sir, they put two more Horses in the Coach, as you order'd, and 'tis ready at the Door.

Sir _Fran._ Well, I'm going to be Executor, better for thee, Jewel. B'ye _Chargee_, one Buss!--I'm glad thou hast got a a Monkey to divert thee a little.

_Miran._ Thank'e, dear _Gardee_.--Nay, I'll see you to the Coach.

Sir _Fran._ That's kind, adod.

_Miran._ Come along, Impertinence.
(_To _Marplot_._

_Marpl._ (_Stepping back._) Egad, I will see the Monkey: Now (_Lifts up the Board, and discovers Sir_ George_._) Oh Lord, Oh Lord! Thieves, Thieves, Murder!

Sir _Geo._ Dam'e, you unlucky Dog! 'tis I, which way shall I get out, shew me instantly, or I'll cut your Throat.

_Marpl._ Undone, undone! At that Door there. But hold, hold, break that China, and I'll bring you off. (_He runs off at the Corner, and throws down some China._

_Re-enter Sir _Francis_, _Miranda_, and _Scentwell_._

Sir _Fran._ Mercy on me! what's the matter?

_Miran._ Oh, you Toad! what have you done?

_Marpl._ No great harm, I beg of you to forgive me: Longing to see the Monkey, I did but just raise up the Board, and it flew over my Shoulders, scratch'd all my Face, broke yon' China, and whisk'd out of the Window.

Sir _Fran._ Was ever such an unlucky Rogue! Sirrah, I forbid you my House. Call the Servants to get the Monkey again; I wou'd stay my self to look it, but that you know my earnest Business.

_Scentw._ Oh my Lady will be the best to lure it back; all them Creatures love my Lady extremely.

_Miran._ Go, go, dear _Gardee_; I hope I shall recover it.

Sir _Fran._ B'ye, by'e, Dear'e. Ah, Mischief, how you look now! B'ye, b'ye. (_Exit._

_Miran._ _Scentwell_, see him in the Coach, and bring me word.

_Scentw._ Yes, Madam.

_Miran._ So, Sir, you have done your Friend a signal piece of Service, I suppose.

_Marpl._ Why look you, Madam! if I have committed a fault, thank your self; no Man is more Serviceable when I am let into a Secret, nor none more Unlucky at finding it out. Who cou'd divine your Meaning, when you talk'd of a Blunderbuss, who thought of a Rendevous? and when you talk'd of a Monkey, who the Devil dreamt of Sir _George?_

_Miran._ A sign you converse but little with our Sex, when you can't reconcile Contradictions.

_Enter _Scentwell_._

_Scentw._ He's gone, Madam, as fast as the Coach, and Six can carry him.

_Enter Sir _George_._

Sir _Geo._ Then I may appear.

_Marpl._ Dear, Sir _George_, make my Peace! On my Soul, I did not think of you.

Sir _Geo._ I dare swear thou didst not. Madam, I beg you to forgive him.

_Miran._ Well, Sir _George_, if he can be secret.

_Marpl._ Ods heart, Madam, I'm as secret as a Priest when I'm trusted.

Sir _Geo._ Why 'tis with a Priest our Business is at present.

_Scentw._ Madam, here's Mrs. _Isabinda_'s Woman to wait on you.

_Miran._ Bring her up.

_Enter _Patch_._

How do'e, Mrs. _Patch_, what News from your Lady?

_Patch._ That's for your private Ear, Madam. Sir _George_, there's a Friend of yours has an urgent Occasion for your Assistance.

Sir _Geo._ His Name.

_Patch._ _Charles._

_Marpl._ Ha! then there is something a-foot that I know nothing of. I'll wait on you, Sir _George_.

Sir _Geo._ A third Person may not be proper perhaps; as soon as I have dispatch'd my own Affairs, I am at his Service. I'll send my Servant to tell him, I'll wait upon him in half an Hour.

_Miran._ How come you employ'd in this Message, Mrs. _Patch?_

_Patch._ Want of Business, Madam. I am discharg'd by my Master, but hope to serve my Lady still.

_Miran._ How discharg'd! you must tell me the whole Story within.

_Patch._ With all my Heart, Madam.

_Marpl._ Pish! Pox, I wish I were fairly out of the House. I find Marriage is the end of this Secret: And now I am half mad to know what _Charles_ wants him for. (_Aside._

Sir _Geo._ Madam, I'm doubly press'd, by Love and Friendship: This Exigence admits of no delay. Shall we make _Marplot_ of the Party?

_Miran._ If you'll run the Hazard, Sir _George_; I believe he means well.

_Marpl._ Nay, nay, for my part, I desire to be let into nothing: I'll begon, therefore pray don't mistrust me. (_Going._

Sir _Geo._ So now has he a mind to be gone to _Charles_: but not knowing what Affairs he may have upon his Hands at present, I'm resolv'd he sha'n't stir: No, Mr. _Marplot_, you must not leave us, we want a third Person. (_Takes hold of him._

_Marpl._ I never had more mind to be gone in my Life.

_Miran._ Come along then; if we fail in the Voyage, thank your self for taking this ill starr'd Gentleman on Board.

_Sir_ Geo.
_That Vessel ne'er can Unsuccessful prove,_
_Whose Freight is Beauty, and whose Pilot Love._

The End of the Fourth ACT.

ACT the Fifth.

_Enter _Miranda_, _Patch_, and _Scentwell_._

_Miran._ Well, _Patch_, I have done a strange bold thing! my Fate is determin'd, and Expectation is no more. Now to avoid the Impertinence and Roguery of an old Man, I have thrown my self into the Extravagance of a young one; if he shou'd despise, slight or use me ill, there's no Remedy from a Husband, but the Grave; and that's a terrible Sanctuary to one of my Age and Constitution.

_Patch._ O fear not, Madam, you'll find your account in Sir _George Airy_; it is impossible a Man of Sense shou'd use a Woman ill, indued with Beauty, Wit and Fortune. It must be the Lady's fault, if she does not wear the unfashionable Name of Wife easie, when nothing but Complaisance and good Humour is requisite on either side to make them happy.

_Miran._ I long till I am out of this House, lest any Accident shou'd bring my _Guardian_ back. _Scentwell_, put my best Jewels into the little Casket, slip them, into thy Pocket, and let us march off to Sir. _Jealous_'s.

_Scentw._ It shall be done, Madam.
(_Exit_ Scentwell.

_Patch._ Sir _George_ will be impatient, Madam; if their Plot succeeds, we shall be well receiv'd; if not, he will be able to protect us. Besides, I long to know how my young Lady fares.

_Miran._ Farewell, old _Mammon_, and thy detested Walls; 'twill be no more sweet Sir _Francis_, I shall be compell'd to the odious Task of Dissembling no longer to get my own, and coax him with the wheedling Names of my _Precious_, my _Dear_, dear _Gardee_. Oh Heavens!

_Enter Sir _Francis_ behind._

Sir _Fran._ Ah, my sweet _Chargee_, don't be frighted. (_She starts._) But thy poor _Gardee_ has been abused, cheated, fool'd, betray'd, but no Body knows by whom.

_Miran._ (_Aside._) Undone! past Redemption.

Sir _Fran._ What won't you speak to me, _Chargee!_

_Miran._ I'm so surpriz'd with Joy to see you, I know not what to say.

Sir _Fran._ Poor, dear Girl! But do'e know that my Son, or some such Rogue, to rob or murder me, or both, contriv'd this Journey? For upon the Road I met my Neighbour _Squeezum_ well, and coming to Town.