_Man._ Oh! Sir Francis, I love to come and go, without ceremony. Sir _Fran._ Nay, Sir, I must do as you will have me--your humble Servant. [_Exit ~Manly~._ _Jenny._ This Cousin _Manly_, Papa, seems to be but of an odd sort of a crusty humour----I don't like him half so well as the Count. Sir _Fran._ Pooh! that's another thing, Child----Cousin is a little proud indeed! but however you must always be civil to him, for he has a deal of money; and no body knows who he may give it to. Lady _Wrong._ Pshah; a fig for his money, you have so many projects of late about money, since you are a Parliament Man: What! we must make ourselves slaves to his impertinent humours, eight, or ten years perhaps, in hopes to be his heirs, and then he will be just old enough to marry his maid. _Moth._ Nay, for that matter, Madam, the town says he is going to be married already. Sir _Fran._ Who? Cousin _Manly_? Lady _Wrong._ To whom, pray? _Moth._ Why, is it possible your Ladyship should know nothing of it!----to my Lord _Townly_'s sister, Lady _Grace_. Lady _Wrong._ Lady _Grace_? _Moth._ Dear Madam, it has been in the New-Papers! Lady _Wrong._ I don't like that neither. Sir _Fran._ Naw, I do; for then it's likely it mayn't be true. Lady _Wrong._ [_Aside._] If it is not too far gone; at least it may be worth one's while to throw a rub in his way. Squ. _Rich._ Pray, Feyther, haw lung will it be to supper? Sir _Fran._ Odso! that's true! step to the Cook, Lad, and ask what she can get us? _Moth._ If you please, Sir, I'll order one of my maids to shew her where she may have any thing you have a mind to. Sir _Fran._ Thank you kindly, Mrs. _Motherly_. Squ. _Rich._ Ods-flesh! what, is not it i'the hawse yet----I shall be famisht----but howld! I'll go and ask _Doll_, an there's none o'the goose poy left. Sir _Fran._ Do so, and do'st hear, _Dick_----see if there's e'er a bottle o'th' strong beer that came i'th' coach with us----if there be, clap a toast in it, and bring it up. Squ. _Rich._ With a little nutmeg and sugar, shawn't I, Feyther? Sir _Fran._ Ay! ay! as thee and I always drink it for breakfast--Go thy ways!----and I'll fill a pipe i'th' mean while. [_Takes one from a Pocket-Case, and fills it._] [_Exit Squ. ~Rich~._ Lady _Wrong._ This Boy is always thinking of his belly! Sir _Fran._ Why my Dear, you may allow him to be a little hungry after his journey. Lady _Wrong._ Nay, ev'n breed him your own way--He has been cramming in or out of the coach all this day I am sure--I wish my poor Girl could eat a quarter as much. _Jenny._ O for that I could eat a great deal more, Mamma; but then mayhap, I should grow coarse, like him, and spoil my shape. Lady _Wrong._ Ay, so thou would'st, my Dear. _Enter Squire ~Richard~ with a full Tankard._