Harry. Ah! ah! ah! I'll try it; my father will be cursedly vexed; but no other way. [Aside.
Rover. Somebody called Harry—Zounds! "if the real Simon Pure" should be arrived, I'm in a fine way!
Harry. Be quiet—that's my confederate.
Rover. Eh!
Harry. He's to personate the father, Sir George. He started the scheme, having heard that a union was intended, and Sir George not immediately expected—our plan is, if I can, before his arrival, flourish myself into the lady's good graces, and whip her up, as she's an heiress.
Rover. But who is this comrade?
Harry. One of our company, a devilish good actor in the old man.
Rover. So you're turned fortune-hunter! Oh, oh! then 'twas on this plan that you parted with me on the road, standing like a finger post, "you walk up that way, and I must walk down this." [Mimicks.] Why, Dick, I did'nt know you were half so capital a rogue.
Harry. I did'nt know my forte lay that way, till persuaded by this experienced stager.
Rover. He must be an impudent old scoundrel; who is he? Do I not know him?