now.

Cha. Then a Fool for Diversion is out of Fashion, I find.

Marpl. Yes, without it be a mimicking Fool, and they are Darlings every where; but prithee introduce me.

Cha. Well, on Condition you'll give us a true Account how you came by that Mourning Nose, I will.

Marpl. I'll do it.

Cha. Sir George, here's a Gentleman has a passionate Desire to kiss your Hand.

Sir Geo. Oh, I honour Men of the Sword, and I presume this Gentleman is lately come from Spain or Portugal—by his Scars.

Marpl. No really, Sir George, mine sprung from civil Fury, happening last Night into the Groom-Porters—I had a strong Inclination to go ten Guineas with a sort of a, sort of a—kind of a Milk Sop, as I thought: A Pox of the Dice he flung out, and my Pockets being empty as Charles knows they sometimes are, he prov'd a surly North-Britain, and broke my Face for my Deficiency.

Sir Geo. Ha! ha! and did not you draw?

Marpl. Draw, Sir, why, I did but lay my Hand upon my Sword to make a swift Retreat, and he roar'd out. Now the Deel a Ma sol, Sir, gin ye touch yer Steel, Ise whip mine through yer Wem.

Sir Geo. Ha, ha, ha,

Cha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, fase was the Word, so you walk'd off, I suppose.

Marp. Yes, for I avoid fighting, purely to be serviceable to my Friends you know—

Sir Geo. Your Friends are much oblig'd to you, Sir, I hope you'll rank me in that Number.

Marpl. Sir George, a Bow from the side Box, or to be seen in your Chariot, binds me ever yours.

Sir Geo. Trifles, you may command 'em when you please.

Cha. Provided he may command you—

Marpl. Me! why I live for no other purpose— Sir George, I have the Honour to be carest by most of the reigning Toasts of the Town, I'll tell 'em you are the finest Gentleman—

Sir Geo. No, no, prithee let me alone to tell the Ladies—my Parts—can you convey a Letter upon Occasion, or deliver a Message with an Air of Business, Ha!

Marpl. With the Assurance of a Page and the Gravity of a Statesman.

Sir Geo. You know Miranda!

Marpl. What, my Sister Ward? Why, her Guardian is mine, we are Fellow Sufferers: Ah! he is a covetous, cheating, sanctify'd Curmudgeon; that Sir Francis Gripe is a damn'd old—

Char. I suppose, Friend, you forget that he is my Father—

Marpl. I ask your Pardon, Charles, but it is for your sake I hate him. Well, I say, the World is mistaken in him, his Out-side Piety, makes him every Man's Executor, and his Inside Cunning, makes him every Heir's Jaylor. Egad, Charles, I'm half persuaded that thou'rt some Ward too, and never of his getting: For thou art as honest a Debauchee as ever Cuckolded Man of Quality.

Sir Geo. A pleasant Fellow.

Cha. The Dog is Diverting sometimes, or there wou'd be no enduring his Impertinence: He is pressing to be employ'd and willing to execute, but some ill Fate generally attends all he undertakes, and he oftner spoils an Intreague than helps it—

Marpl. If I miscarry 'tis none of my Fault, I follow my Instructions.

Cha. Yes, witness the Merchant's Wife.

Marpl. Pish, Pox, that was an Accident.

Sir Geo. What was it, prithee?

Ch. Why, you must know, I had lent a certain Merchant my hunting Horses, and was to have met his Wife in his Absence: Sending him along with my Groom to make the Complement, and to deliver a Letter to the Lady at the same time; what does he do, but gives the Husband the Letter, and offers her the Horses.

Marpl. I remember you was even with me, for you deny'd the Letter to be yours, and swore I had a design upon her, which my Bones paid for.

Cha. Come, Sir George, let's walk round, if you are not ingag'd, for I have sent my Man upon a little earnest Business, and have order'd him to bring me the Answer into the Park.

Marpl. Business, and I not know it, Egad I'll watch him.

Sir Geo. I must beg your Pardon, Charles, I am to meet your Father here.

Ch. My Father!

Sir Geo. Aye! and about the oddest Bargain perhaps you ever heard off; but I'll not impart till I know the Success.

Marpl. What can his Business be with Sir Francis? Now wou'd I give all the World to know it; why the Devil should not one know every Man's Concern.

Cha. Prosperity to't whate'er it be, I have private Affairs too; over a Bottle we'll compare Notes.

Marpl. Charles knows I love a Glass as well as any Man, I'll make one; shall it be to Night? Ad I long to know their Secrets.

Whis. Sir, Sir, Mis Patch says, Isabinda's Spanish Father has quite spoil'd the Plot, and she can't meet you in the Park, but he infallibly will go out this Afternoon, she says; but I must step again to know the Hour.

Marpl. What did Whisper say now? I shall go stark Mad, if I'm not let into this Secret.

Cha. Curst Misfortune, come along with me, my Heart feels Pleasure at her Name. Sir George, yours; we'll meet at the old place the usual Hour.

Sir Geo. Agreed; I think I see Sir Francis yonder.

Cha. Marplot, you must excuse me, I am engag'd.

Marpl. Engag'd, Egad I'll engage my Life, I'll know what your Engagement is.

Miran. (Coming out of a Chair.) Let the Chair wait: My Servant, That dog'd Sir George said he was in the Park.

Ha! Mis Patch alone, did not you tell me you had contriv'd a way to bring Isabinda to the Park?

Patch. Oh, Madam, your Ladiship can't imagine what a wretched Disappointment we have met with: Just as I had fetch'd a Suit of my Cloaths for a Disguise: comes my old Master into his Closet, which is right against her Chamber Door; this struck us into a terrible Fright— At length I put on a Grave Face, and ask'd him if he was at leisure for his Chocolate, in hopes to draw him out of his Hole; but he snap'd my Nose off, No, I shall be busie here this two Hours; at which my poor Mistress seeing no way of Escape, order'd me to wait on your Ladiship with the sad Relation.

Miran. Unhappy Isabinda! Was ever any thing so unaccountable as the Humour of Sir Jealousie Traffick.

Patch. Oh, Madam, it's his living so long in Spain, he vows he'll spend half his Estate, but he'll be a Parliament-Man, on purpose to bring in a Bill for Women to wear Veils, and the other odious Spanish Customs— He swears it is the height of Impudence to have a Woman seen Bare-fac'd even at Church, and scarce believes there's a true begotten Child in the City.

Miran. Ha, ha, ha, how the old Fool torments himself! Suppose he could introduce his rigid Rules—does he think we cou'd not match them in Contrivance? No, no; Let the Tyrant Man make what Laws he will, if there's a Woman under the Government, I warrant she finds a way to break 'em: Is his Mind set upon the Spaniard for his Son-in-law still?