Mrs. Hard. Pshaw, pshaw! this is all but the whining end of a modern novel.
Hard. Be it what it will, I'm glad they are come back to reclaim their due. Come hither, Tony, boy. Do you refuse this lady's hand whom I now offer you?
Tony. What signifies my refusing? You know I can't refuse her till I'm of age, father.
Hard. While I thought concealing your age, boy, was likely to conduce to your improvement, I concurred with your mother's desire, to keep it secret. But since I find she turns it to a wrong use, I must now declare, you have been of age these three months.
Tony. Of age! Am I of age, father?
Hard. Above three months.
Tony. Then you'll see the first use I'll make of my liberty. (Taking Miss Neville's hand.) Witness all men by these presents, that I, Anthony Lumpkin, Esquire, of blank place, refuse you, Constantia Neville, spinster, of no place at all, for my true and lawful wife. So Constantia Neville may marry whom she pleases, and Tony Lumpkin is his own man again.
Sir Charles. O brave 'squire!
Hast. My worthy friend!
Mrs. Hard. My undutiful offspring!