Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, did not I tell thee thou would'st repent thy Money? Did not I say she hated young Fellow's, Ha, ha, ha. Sir _Geo._ And I'm positive she's not in Love with Age. Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, no matter for that, Ha, ha, she's not taken with your Youth, nor your Rhetorick to boot, ha, ha. Sir _Geo._ Whate'er her Reasons are for disliking a me, I am certain she can be taken with nothing about thee. Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha; how he swells with Envy!--Poor Man, poor Man--Ha, ha; I must beg your Pardon, Sir _George_, _Miranda_ will be Impatient to have her share of Mirth: Verily we shall Laugh at thee most Egregiously; Ha, ha, ha. Sir _Geo._ With all my Heart, faith--I shall Laugh in my Turn too--For if you dare marry her old _Belzebub_, you would be Cuckolded most Egregiously; Remember that, and Tremble-- _She that to Age her Beauteous Self resigns, Shows witty Management for close Designs. Then if thou'rt grac'd with fair _Miranda_'s Bed, _Actaeon_'s Horns she Means, shall Crown thy Head._ (_Exit._ Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha; he is mad. _These fluttering Fops imagine they can Wind, Turn, and Decoy to Love, all Women-kind: But here's a Proof of Wisdom in my Charge, Old Men are Constant, Young Men live at Large. The Frugal Hand can Bills at Sight defray, When he that Lavish is, has Nought to pay._ (_Exit._ SCENE _Changes to Sir _Jealous Traffick_'s House._ _Enter Sir _Jealous_, _Isabinda_, _Patch_ following._ Sir _Jeal._ What in the Balcone agen, notwithstanding my positive Commands to the contrary!--Why don't you write a Bill upon your Forehead, to show Passengers there's something to be Let-- _Isab._ What harm can there be in a little fresh Air, Sir? Sir _Jeal._ Is your Constitution so hot, Mistriss, that it wants cooling, ha? Apply the Virtuous _Spanish_ Rules, banish your Tast, and Thoughts of Flesh, feed upon Roots, and quench your Thirst with Water. _Isab._ That, and a close Room, wou'd certainly make me die of the Vapours. Sir _Jeal._ No, Mistriss, 'tis your High-fed, Lusty, Rambling, Rampant Ladies--that are troubl'd with the Vapours; 'tis your Ratifia, Persico, Cynamon, Citron, and Spirit of Clary, cause such Swi--m--ing in the Brain, that carries many a Guinea full-tide to the Doctor. But you are not to be Bred this way; No Galloping abroad, no receiving Visits at home; for in our loose Country, the Women are as dangerous as the Men. _Patch._ So I told her, Sir; and that it was not Decent to be seen in a Balcone--But she threaten'd to slap my Chaps, and told me, I was her Servant, not her Governess. Sir _Jeal._ Did she so? But I'll make her to know, that you are her _Duenna_: Oh that incomparable Custom of _Spain!_ why here's no depending upon old Women in my Country--for they are as Wanton at Eighty, as a Girl of Eighteen; and a Man may as safely trust to _Asgill_'s Translation, as to his great Grand-Mother's not marrying agen.