Sir _Tun._ Drunk, Sirrah! Here's an impudent Rogue for you! Drunk or Sober, Bully, I'm a Justice of the Peace, and know how to deal with Strolers. _Lord Fop._ Strolers! Sir _Tun._ Ay, Strolers; come, give an account of yourself; what's your Name? where do you live? Do you pay Scot and Lot? Are you a _Williamite_, or a _Jacobite_? Come. _Lord Fop._ And why dost thou ask me so many impertinent Questions? Sir _Tun._ Because I'll make you answer 'em before I have done with you, you Rascal you. _Lord Fop._ Before Gad, all the Answer I can make thee to 'em, is, that thou art a very extraordinary old Fellow; stap my Vitals-- Sir _Tun._ Nay, if you are for joaking with Deputy-Lieutenants, we know how to deal with you: Here, draw a Warrant for him immediately. _Lord Fop._ A Warrant----what the Devil is't thou wou'dst be at, old Gentleman? Sir _Tun._ I wou'd be at you, Sirrah, (if my Hands were not ty'd as a Magistrate) and with these two double Fists beat your Teeth down your Throat, you Dog you. _Lord Fop._ And why would'st thou spoil my Face at that rate? Sir _Tun._ For your Design to rob me of my Daughter, Villain. _Lord Fop._ Rab thee of thy Daughter----Now I do begin to believe I am a-bed and a-sleep, and that all this is but a Dream--If it be, 'twill be an agreeable Surprize enough, to waken by and by; and instead of the impertinent Company of a nasty Country Justice, find my self perhaps in the Arms of a Woman of Quality--[_To Sir ~Tun.~_] Pr'ythee, old Father, wilt thou give me leave to ask thee one Question? Sir _Tun._ I can't tell whether I will or not, till I know what it is. _Lord Fop._ Why, then, it is, whether thou didst not write to my Lord _Foppington_ to come down and marry thy Daughter? Sir _Tun._ Yes, marry did I, and my Lord _Foppington_ is come down, and shall marry my Daughter before she's a Day older. _Lord Fop._ Now give me thy Hand, dear Dad, I thought we should understand one another at last. Sir _Tun._ This Fellow's mad----here bind him Hand and Foot. [_They bind him down._ _Lord Fop._ Nay, pr'ythee, Knight, leave fooling, thy Jest begins to grow dull. Sir _Tun._ Bind him, I say, he's mad----Bread and Water, a dark Room, and a Whip, may bring him to his Senses again. _Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] I'gad, if I don't waken quickly, by all that I can see, this is like to prove one of the most impertinent Dreams that ever I dreamt in my Life. _Enter ~Miss~ and ~Nurse~._ [_~Miss~ going up to him._] _Miss._ Is this he that wou'd have run away with me? Fough, how he stinks of sweets! Pray, Father, let him be dragg'd through the Horse-Pond. _Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] This must be my Wife by her natural Inclination to her Husband. _Miss._ Pray, Father, what do you intend to do with him? hang him? Sir _Tun._ That at least, Child. _Nurse._ Ay, and it's e'en too good for him too.