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.

    (Exit Char_._

  Enter Servant.

Serv. One Sir George Airy enquires for you, Sir.

  Enter Marplot_ Running._

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.
    (Exit, hastily.

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.

  Enter Sir George_._

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.
    (Aside.

  Enter Mirand_._

Sir Fran. Agreed—­Miranda. There Sir George, try your Fortune, (Takes out his Watch.)

Sir Geo.
  So from the Eastern Chambers breaks the Sun,
  Dispels the Clouds, and gilds the Vales below.
    (Salutes her.

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.
    (Retires to the bottom of
the Stage.

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 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—­