Marpl. I never had more mind to be gone in my Life.

Miran. Come along then; if we fail in the Voyage, thank your self for taking this ill starr’d Gentleman on Board.

Sir Geo.
  That Vessel ne’er can Unsuccessful prove,
  Whose Freight is Beauty, and whose Pilot Love.

The End of the Fourth ACT.

ACT the Fifth.

  Enter Miranda_, Patch, and Scentwell._

Miran. Well, Patch, I have done a strange bold thing! my Fate is determin’d, and Expectation is no more.  Now to avoid the Impertinence and Roguery of an old Man, I have thrown my self into the Extravagance of a young one; if he shou’d despise, slight or use me ill, there’s no Remedy from a Husband, but the Grave; and that’s a terrible Sanctuary to one of my Age and Constitution.

Patch. O fear not, Madam, you’ll find your account in Sir George Airy; it is impossible a Man of Sense shou’d use a Woman ill, indued with Beauty, Wit and Fortune.  It must be the Lady’s fault, if she does not wear the unfashionable Name of Wife easie, when nothing but Complaisance and good Humour is requisite on either side to make them happy.

Miran. I long till I am out of this House, lest any Accident shou’d bring my Guardian back. Scentwell, put my best Jewels into the little Casket, slip them, into thy Pocket, and let us march off to Sir. Jealous’s.

Scentw. It shall be done, Madam.
    (Exit Scentwell.

Patch. Sir George will be impatient, Madam; if their Plot succeeds, we shall be well receiv’d; if not, he will be able to protect us.  Besides, I long to know how my young Lady fares.

Miran. Farewell, old Mammon, and thy detested Walls; ’twill be no more sweet Sir Francis, I shall be compell’d to the odious Task of Dissembling no longer to get my own, and coax him with the wheedling Names of my Precious, my Dear, dear Gardee.  Oh Heavens!

  Enter Sir Francis_ behind._

Sir Fran. Ah, my sweet Chargee, don’t be frighted. (She starts.) But thy poor Gardee has been abused, cheated, fool’d, betray’d, but no Body knows by whom.

Miran. (Aside.) Undone! past Redemption.

Sir Fran. What won’t you speak to me, Chargee!

Miran. I’m so surpriz’d with Joy to see you, I know not what to say.

Sir Fran. Poor, dear Girl!  But do’e know that my Son, or some such Rogue, to rob or murder me, or both, contriv’d this Journey?  For upon the Road I met my Neighbour Squeezum well, and coming to Town.

Miran. Good lack, good lack! what Tricks are there in this World!

Enter Scentwell_, with a Diamond Necklace in her Hand; not seeing Sir Francis._