_Miran._ Not for your Reputation, _Gardee_; the malicious World will be apt to say, you trick'd me into Marriage, and so take the Merit from my Choice. Now I will have the Act my own, to let the idle Fops see how much I prefer a Man loaded with Years and Wisdom. Sir _Fran._ Humph! Prithee leave out Years, _Chargee_, I'm not so old, as thou shalt find: Adod, I'm young; there's a Caper for ye. (_Jumps_. _Miran._ Oh never excuse it, why I like you the better for being old--But I shall suspect you don't love me, if you Refuse me this Formality. Sir _Fran._ Not Love thee, _Chargee!_ Adod I do love thee better than, than, than, better than--what shall I say? Egad, better than Money, I faith I do-- _Miran._ That's false I'm sure (_Aside._) To prove it do this then. Sir _Fran._ Well, I will do it, _Chargee_, provided I bring a License at the same time. _Miran._ Ay, and a Parson too, if you please; Ha, ha, ha, I can't help Laughing to think how all the young Coxcombs about Town will be mortify'd when they hear of our Marriage. Sir _Fran._ So they will, so they will; Ha, ha, ha. _Miran._ Well, I fancy I shall be so happy with my _Gardee!_ Sir _Fran._ If wearing Pearls and Jewels, or eating Gold, as the old Saying is, can make thee happy, thou shalt be so, my Sweetest, my Lovely, my Charming, my--verily I know not what to call thee. _Miran._ You must know, _Gardee_, that I am so eager to have this Business concluded, that I have employ'd my Womans Brother, who is a Lawyer in the _Temple_, to settle Matters just to your Liking, you are to give your Consent to my Marriage, which is to your self, you know: But Mum, you must take up notice of that. So then I will, that is, with your Leave, put my Writings into his Hands; then to Morrow we come slap upon them with a Wedding, that no body thought on; by which you seize me and my Estate, and I suppose make a Bonfire of your own Act and Deed. Sir _Fran._ Nay, but _Chargee_, if-- _Miran._ Nay, _Gardee_, no Ifs--Have I refus'd three _Northern_ Lords, two _British_ Peers, and half a score Knights, to have you put in your Ifs?-- Sir _Fran._ So thou hast indeed, and I will trust to thy Management. Od, I'm all of a Fire. _Miran._ 'Tis a wonder the dry Stubble does not blaze. _Enter _Marplot_._ Sir _Fran._ How now! who sent for you, Sir? What's the Hundred Pound gone already? _Marpl._ No, Sir, I don't want Money now. Sir _Fran._ No, that's a Miracle! But there's one thing you want, I'm sure. _Marpl._ Ay, what's that, _Guardian?_ Sir _Fran._ Manners, what had I no Servants without? _Marpl._ None that cou'd do my Business, _Guardian_, which is at present with this Lady. _Miran._ With me, Mr. _Marplot!_ what is it, I beseech you? Sir _Fran._ Ay, Sir, what is it? any thing that relates to her may be deliver'd to me. _Marpl._ I deny that. _Miran._ That's more than I do, Sir.