Nurse. Eh——the Lord succour thee, how thou art delighted!
[Exit after her.
Enter Sir Tunbelly and Young Fashion. A Servant with Wine.
Sir Tun. My Lord, I'm proud of the Honour to see your Lordship within my Doors: and I humbly crave leave to bid you welcome in a Cup of Sack Wine.
Young Fash. Sir, to your Daughter's Health.
[Drinks.
Sir Tun. Ah poor Girl, she'll be fear'd out of her Wits on her Wedding Night; for, honestly speaking, she does not know a Man from a Woman, but by his Beard, and his Breeches.
Young Fash. Sir, I don't doubt she has had a virtuous Education, which, with the rest of her Merit, makes me long to see her mine. I wish you wou'd dispense with the Canonical Hour, and let it be this very Night.
Sir Tun. O not so soon, neither; that's shooting my Girl before you bid her stand. No, give her fair warning, we'll sign and seal to-night if you please; and this Day seven-night—let the Jade look to her Quarters.
Young Fash. This Day seven-night——Why, what do you take me for a Ghost, Sir? 'Slife, Sir, I'm made of Flesh and Blood, and Bones and Sinews, and can no more live a Week without your Daughter—than I can live a Month with her.