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.

  Enter Charles_._

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?

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.
    [Exit.

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.
    (Aside.

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?