Sir _Tun._ My Lord, I am common Fame's very grateful humble Servant. My Lord----my Girl's young: _Hoyden_ is young, my Lord; but this I must say for her, what she wants in Art, she has by Nature; what she wants in Experience, she has in Breeding; and what's wanting in her Age, is made good in her Constitution. So pray, my Lord, walk in; pray, my Lord, walk in. _Young Fash._ Sir, I wait upon you. [_Exeunt._ _Miss ~Hoyden~ sola._ Sure never no body was us'd as I am. I know well enough what other Girls do, for all they think to make a Fool of me: It's well I have a Husband a coming, or I'cod, I'd marry the Baker, I wou'd so. No body can knock at the Gate, but presently I must be lockt up; and here's the young Greyhound Bitch can run loose about the House all the day long, she can; 'tis very well. _Nurse ~without~, opening the Door._ Miss _Hoyden_! Miss, Miss, Miss! Miss _Hoyden_! _Enter ~Nurse~._ _Miss._ Well, what do you make such a Noise for, ha! What do you din a body's Ears for? Can't one be at quiet for you? _Nurse._ What do I din your Ears for? Here's one come will din your Ears for you. _Miss._ What care I who's come? I care not a Fig who comes, nor who goes, as long as I shall be lockt up like the Ale-Cellar. _Nurse._ That, Miss, is for fear you shou'd be drank before you are ripe. _Miss._ O, don't you trouble your Head about that; I'm as ripe as you, tho' not so mellow. _Nurse._ Very well; now I have a good mind to lock you up again, and not let you see my Lord to-night. _Miss._ My Lord! Why, is my Husband come? _Nurse._ Yes, marry is he, and a goodly Person too. _Miss._ [_Hugging Nurse._] O my dear _Nurse_, forgive, me this once, and I'll never misuse you again; no, if I do, you shall give me three thumps on the Back, and a great pinch by the Cheek. _Nurse._ Ah the poor Thing, see how it melts; it's as full of Good-Nature as an Egg's full of Meat. _Miss._ But, my dear Nurse, don't lie now; is he come, by your troth? _Nurse._ Yes, by my truly, is he. _Miss._ O Lord! I'll go and put on my lac'd Smock, tho' I am whipt till the Blood run down my Heels for't. [_Exit running._ _Nurse._ Eh----the Lord succour thee, how thou art delighted! [_Exit after her._ _Enter Sir ~Tunbelly~ and ~Young Fashion~. A Servant with Wine._ Sir _Tun._ My Lord, I'm proud of the Honour to see your Lordship within my Doors: and I humbly crave leave to bid you welcome in a Cup of Sack Wine. _Young Fash._ Sir, to your Daughter's Health. [_Drinks._