CHARLES. I can't come yet. I'faith, we are going to have a sale above stairs; here's little Premium will buy all my ancestors!
CARELESS. Oh, burn your ancestors!
CHARLES. No, he may do that afterwards, if he pleases. Stay, Careless, we want you: egad, you shall be auctioneer—so come along with us.
CARELESS. Oh, have with you, if that's the case. I can handle a hammer as well as a dice box! Going! going!
SIR OLIVER. Oh, the profligates! [Aside.]
CHARLES. Come, Moses, you shall be appraiser, if we want one. Gad's life, little Premium, you don't seem to like the business?
SIR OLIVER. Oh, yes, I do, vastly! Ha! ha! ha! yes, yes, I think it a rare joke to sell one's family by auction—ha! ha!—[Aside.] Oh, the prodigal!
CHARLES. To be sure! when a man wants money, where the plague should he get assistance, if he can't make free with his own relations?
[Exeunt.]
SIR OLIVER. I'll never forgive him; never! never!