Miran. Be quiet, Mischief, and stand farther from the Chimney—­You shall not see my Monkey—­why sure—­
    (Striving with him.

Marpl. For Heaven’s sake, dear Madam, let me but peep, to see if it be as pretty as my Lady Fiddle-Faddle’s.  Has it got a Chain?

Miran. Not yet, but I design it one shall last its Life-time:  Nay, you shall not see it—­Look, Gardee, how he teazes me!

Sir Fran. (Getting between him and the Chimney.) Sirrah, Sirrah, let my Chargee’s Monkey alone, or Bambo shall fly about your Ears.  What is there no dealing with you?

Marpl. Pugh, pox of the Monkey! here’s a Rout:  I wish he may Rival you.

  Enter a Servant.

Serv. Sir, they put two more Horses in the Coach, as you order’d, and ’tis ready at the Door.

Sir Fran. Well, I’m going to be Executor, better for thee, Jewel.  B’ye Chargee, one Buss!—­I’m glad thou hast got a a Monkey to divert thee a little.

Miran. Thank’e, dear Gardee.—­Nay, I’ll see you to the Coach.

Sir Fran. That’s kind, adod.

Miran. Come along, Impertinence.
    (To Marplot_._

Marpl. (Stepping back.) Egad, I will see the Monkey:  Now (Lifts up the Board, and discovers Sir George_._) Oh Lord, Oh Lord!  Thieves, Thieves, Murder!

Sir Geo. Dam’e, you unlucky Dog! ’tis I, which way shall I get out, shew me instantly, or I’ll cut your Throat.

Marpl. Undone, undone!  At that Door there.  But hold, hold, break that
China, and I’ll bring you off.
    (He runs off at the Corner, and throws down some China.

  Re-enter Sir Francis_, Miranda, and Scentwell._

Sir Fran. Mercy on me! what’s the matter?

Miran. Oh, you Toad! what have you done?

Marpl. No great harm, I beg of you to forgive me:  Longing to see the Monkey, I did but just raise up the Board, and it flew over my Shoulders, scratch’d all my Face, broke yon’ China, and whisk’d out of the Window.

Sir Fran. Was ever such an unlucky Rogue!  Sirrah, I forbid you my House.  Call the Servants to get the Monkey again; I wou’d stay my self to look it, but that you know my earnest Business.

Scentw. Oh my Lady will be the best to lure it back; all them Creatures love my Lady extremely.

Miran. Go, go, dear Gardee; I hope I shall recover it.

Sir Fran. B’ye, by’e, Dear’e.  Ah, Mischief, how you look now!  B’ye, b’ye.
    (Exit.

Miran. Scentwell, see him in the Coach, and bring me word.

Scentw. Yes, Madam.

Miran. So, Sir, you have done your Friend a signal piece of Service, I suppose.