_Ser._ Why, look you, do you see, with good Words, much may be done. _Ralph_, go thy weas, and ask Sir _Tunbelly_ if he pleases to be waited upon. And, do'st hear? call to Nurse, that she may lock up Miss _Hoyden_ before the Gates open. _Young Fash._ D'ye hear that, _Lory_? _Lo._ Ay, Sir, I'm afraid we shall find a difficult Jobb on't. Pray Heaven that old Rogue _Coupler_ han't sent us to fetch Milk out of the Gunroom! _Young Fash._ I'll warrant thee all will go well: See; the Door opens. _Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~, with his Servants arm'd with Guns, Clubs, Pitchforks, Scythes, ~&c.~_ _Lo._ [_Running behind his Master._] O Lord, O Lord, O Lord, we are both dead Men! _Young Fash._ Take heed, Fool, thy Fear will ruin us. _Lo._ My Fear, Sir--'Sdeath, Sir, I fear nothing. [_Aside._] Wou'd I were well up to the Chin in a Horse-Pond! Sir _Tun._ Who is it here has any Business with me? _Young Fash._ Sir, 'tis I, if your Name be Sir _Tunbelly Clumsey_. Sir _Tun._ Sir, my Name is Sir _Tunbelly Clumsey_, whether you have any Business with me or not. So you see I am not asham'd of my Name--nor my Face--neither. _Young Fash._ Sir, you have no cause, that I know of. Sir _Tun._ Sir, if you have no cause neither, I desire to know who you are; for till I know your Name, I shall not ask you to come into my House; and when I know your Name--'tis six to four I don't ask you neither. _Young Fash._ [_Giving him a Letter._] Sir, I hope you'll find this Letter an Authentick Passport. Sir _Tun._ God's my life, I ask your Lordship's Pardon ten thousand times. [_To his Servant._] Here, run in a-doors quickly: Get a Scotch-Coal Fire in the great Parlour; set all the Turkey-work-Chairs in their places; get the great Brass Candlesticks out; and be sure stick the Sockets full of Laurel; run. [_Turning to ~Young Fash~._] My Lord, I ask your Lordship's pardon. [_To other Servants._] And do you hear, run away to Nurse, bid her let Miss _Hoyden_ loose again, and if it was not shifting Day, let her put on a clean Tucker--quick! [_Exeunt Servants confusedly._ _To_ Young Fash.] I hope your Honour will excuse the disorder of my Family; we are not us'd to receive Men of your Lordship's great Quality every day; pray where are your Coaches and Servants, my Lord? _Young Fash._ Sir, that I might give you and your fair Daughter a proof how impatient I am to be nearer akin to you, I left my Equipage to follow me, and came away Post with only one servant. Sir _Tun._ Your Lordship does me too much Honour. It was exposing your Person to too much Fatigue and Danger, I protest it was; but my Daughter shall endeavour to make you what amends she can; and tho' I say it, that shou'd not say it--_Hoyden_ has Charms. _Young Fash._ Sir, I am not a Stranger to them, tho' I am to her. Common Fame has done her Justice.