Sir Geo. What can’st thou find no Stratagem to redeem it?

Cha. I have made many Essays to no purpose; tho’ Want, the Mistress of Invention, still tempts me on, yet still the old Fox is too cunning for me—­I am upon my last Project, which if it fails, then for my last Refuge, a Brown Musquet.

Sir Geo. What is’t, can I assist thee?

Cha. Not yet, when you can, I have Confidence enough in you to ask it.

Sir Geo. I am always ready, but what do’s he intend to do with Miranda? Is she to be sold in private? or will he put her up by way of Auction, at who bids most?  If so, Egad, I’m for him:  my Gold, as you say, shall be subservient to my Pleasure.

Cha. To deal ingeniously with you, Sir George, I know very little of Her, or Home; for since my Uncle’s Death, and my Return from Travel, I have never been well with my Father; he thinks my Expences too great, and I his Allowance too little; he never sees me, but he quarrels; and to avoid that, I shun his House as much as possible.  The Report is, he intends to marry her himself.

Sir Geo. Can she consent to it?

Cha. Yes faith, so they say; but I tell you, I am wholly ignorant of the matter. Miranda and I are like two violent Members of a contrary Party, I can scarce allow her Beauty, tho’ all the World do’s; nor she me Civility, for that Contempt, I fancy she plays the Mother-in-law already, and sets the old Gentleman on to do mischief.

Sir Geo. Then I’ve your free Consent to get her.

Cha. Ay and my helping-hand, if occasion be.

Sir Geo. Pugh, yonder’s a Fool coming this way, let’s avoid him.

Cha. What Marplot, no no, he’s my Instrument; there’s a thousand Conveniences in him, he’ll lend me his Money when he has any, run of my Errands and be proud on’t; in short, he’ll Pimp for me, Lye for me, Drink for me, do any thing but Fight for me, and that I trust to my own Arm for.

Sir Geo. Nay then he’s to be endur’d; I never knew his Qualifications before.

  Enter Marplot_ with a Patch cross his Face._

Marpl. Dear Charles, your’s,—­Ha!  Sir George Airy, the Man in the World, I have an Ambition to be known to (aside.) Give me thy Hand, dear Boy—­

Cha. A good Assurance!  But heark ye, how came your Beautiful Countenance clouded in the wrong place?

Marpl. I must confess ’tis a little Mal-a-propos, but no matter for that; a Word with you, Charles; Prithee, introduce me to Sir George—­he is a Man of Wit, and I’d give ten Guinea’s to—­

Cha. When you have ’em, you mean.

Marpl. Ay, when I have ’em; pugh, pox, you cut the Thread of my Discourse—­I wou’d give ten Guinea’s, I say, to be rank’d in his Acquaintance:  Well, ’tis a vast Addition to a Man’s Fortune, according to the Rout of the World, to be seen in the Company of Leading Men; for then we are all thought to be Politicians, or Whigs, or Jacks, or High-Flyers, or Low-Flyers, or Levellers—­and so forth; for you must know, we all herd in Parties now.