Sencer. Feign some news that such a piece of land is fallen to you, and you must instantly ride to take possession of it; or, which is more probable, cannot you persuade them you have received a letter that your father lies a-dying? Young Chartley. You rogue, I would he did; but the name of that news is called “too good to be true.” Sencer. And that if ever you will see him alive, you must ride post into the country? Young Chartley. Enough: if ever I prove knight-errant thou shalt be mine own proper squire. For this, thou hast fitted me with a plot. Do but wait here; note how I will manage it.--Taber, my horse, for I must ride to-night. _Re-enter_ Taber. Taber. To-night, sir! Young Chartley. So tell my bride and father: I have news that quite confounds my senses. [_Exit_ Taber. _Enter_ Sir Harry, Gratiana, _and_ Haringfield. Gratiana. How, ride to-night! the marriage day to-morrow, And all things well provided for the feast! Oh, tell me, sweet, why do you look so pale? Young Chartley. My father, O my father! Gratiana. What of him? Sir Harry. What of your father, son? Young Chartley. If ever I will hear his agèd tongue Preach to me counsel, or his palsy hand Stroke my wild head and bless me, or his eyes Drop tear by tear, which they have often done At my misgoverned rioting youth-- What should I more?--if ever I would see That good old man alive--Oh, oh! Sencer. [_Aside_.] Go thy ways, for thou shalt ha’t. Gratiana. But do you mean to ride? Young Chartley. Ay, Grace, all this night. Sencer. [_Aside_.] Not all the night without alighting, sure: You’ll find more in’t than to get up and ride. Haringfield. The gentleman’s riding-boots and spurs. Why, Taber! Young Chartley. Nay, Grace, now’s no time to stand on scrupulous parting. Knewest thou my business-- Sencer. [_Aside_.] As she shall know it. Young Chartley. And how I mean this night to toil myself-- Sencer. [_Aside_.] Marry hang, you brock[4.55]! Young Chartley. Thou wouldst bemoan my travel. Sencer. [_Aside_.] I know ’twould grieve her. Young Chartley. You, father, Grace, good Master Haringfield, You, sir, and all, pray for me, gentlemen, That in this dark night’s journey I may find Smooth way, sweet speed, and all things to my mind. Sir Harry. We’ll see my son take horse. Gratiana. But I will stay: I want the heart to see him post away. [_Exeunt_ Young Chartley, Sir Harry _and_ Haringfield. Sencer. Save you, gentlewoman! I have a message to deliver to one Mistress Gratiana; this should be the knight’s house, her father. Gratiana. It is: the message that you have to her You may acquaint me with, for I am one That knows the inside of her thoughts. Sencer. Are you the lady? Gratiana. Sir, I am the poor gentlewoman.