Miss Petty. This uncle Richard, papa, seems but a crusty sort of an old fellow.
Sir Fran. He is a little odd, child, but you must be very civil to him, for he has a great deal of money, and nobody knows who he may give it to.
Lady Head. Phu, a fig for his money; you have so many projects of late about money, since you are a parliament man, we must make ourselves slaves to his testy humours, seven years, perhaps, in hopes to be his heirs; and then, he'll be just old enough to marry his maid. But pray let us take care of our things here: Are they all brought in yet?
Mrs. Han. Almost, my lady, there are only some of the band-boxes behind, and a few odd things.
Lady Head. Let 'em be fetcht in presently.
Mrs. Han. They are here; come bring the things in: Is there all yet?
Serv. All but the great basket of apples and the goose-pye.
Enter Cookmaid.
Cook. Ah my Lady! we're aw undone, the goose-pye's gwon.
All. Gone?