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._