_Marpl._ Indeed, Madam, why then to proceed: Fame says, that you and my most Conscionable _Guardian_ here, design'd, contriv'd, plotted and agreed to chouse a very civil, honourable, honest Gentleman, out of a Hundred Pound. _Miran._ That I contrived it! _Marpl._ Ay you--You said never a Word against it, so far you are Guilty. Sir _Fran._ Pray tell that civil, honourable, honest Gentleman, that if he has any more such Sums to fool away, they shall be received like the last; Ha, ha, ha, ha, chous'd, quotha! But hark ye, let him know at the same time, that if he dare to report I trick'd him of it, I shall recommend a Lawyer to him shall shew him a Trick for twice as much; D'ye hear, tell him that. _Marpl._ So, and this is the way you use a Gentleman, and my Friend. _Miran._ Is the Wretch thy Friend? _Marpl._ The Wretch! Look ye, Madam, don't call Names; Egad I won't take it. _Miran._ Why you won't beat me, will you? Ha, ha. _Marpl._ I don't know whether I will or no. Sir _Fran._ Sir, I shall make a Servant shew you out at the Window if you are sawcy. _Marpl._ I am your most humble Servant, _Guardian_; I design to go out the same way I came in. I wou'd only ask this Lady, if she do's not think in her Soul Sir _George Airy_ is not a fine Gentleman. _Miram._ He Dresses well. Sir _Fran._ Which is chiefly owing to his Taylor, and _Valet de Chamber_. _Miran._ And if you allow that a proof of his being a fine Gentleman, he is so. _Marpl._ The judicious part of the World allow him Wit, Courage, Gallantry and Management; tho' I think he forfeited that Character, when he flung away a Hundred Pound upon your Dumb Ladyship. Sir _Fran._ Does that gaul him? Ha, ha, ha. _Miran._ So, Sir _George_ remaining in deep Discontent, has sent you his trusty Squire, to utter his Complaint: Ha, ha, ha. _Marpl._ Yes, Madam; and you, like a cruel, hard-hearted Jew, value it no more--than I wou'd your Ladyship, were I Sir _George_, you, you, you-- _Miran._ Oh, don't call Names. I know you love to be employ'd, and I'll oblige you; and you shall carry him a Message from me. _Marpl._ According as I like it: What is it? _Miran._ Nay, a kind one you may be sure--First tell him, I have chose this Gentleman to have, and to hold, and so forth. (_Clapping her Hand into Sir _Francis_'s._ Sir _Fran._ Oh the dear Rogue, how I dote on her! (_Aside._ _Miran._ And advise his Impertinence to trouble me no more, for I prefer Sir _Francis_ for a Husband before all the Fops in the Universe. _Marpl._ Oh Lord, Oh Lord! She's bewitch'd, that's certain; Here's a Husband for Eighteen--Here's a Shape--Here's Bones ratling in a Leathern Bag. (_Turning Sir _Francis_ about._) Here's Buckram, and Canvass, to scrub you to Repentance. Sir _Fran._ Sirrah, my Cane shall teach you Repentance presently. _Marpl._ No faith, I have felt its Twin-Brother from just such a wither'd Hand too lately.