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.