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.