Pounce. 'Tis a delight to gall these old rascals, and set 'em at variance about stakes, which I know neither of 'em will ever have possession of.
Enter Tipkin and Sir Harry.
Tip. Do you design, Sir Harry, that they shall have an estate in their own hands, and keep house themselves, poor things?
Sir Har. No, no, sir, I know better; they shall go down into the country, and live with me, not touch a farthing of money; but, having all things necessary provided, they shall go tame about the house, and breed.
Tip. Well, Sir Harry, then considering that all human things are subject to change, it behoves every man that has a just sense of mortality to take care of his money.
Sir Har. I don't know what you mean, brother. What do you drive at, brother?
Tip. This instrument is executed by you, your son, and my niece, which discharges me of all retrospects.
Sir Har. It is confessed, brother; but what then?
Tip. All that remains is, that you pay me for the young lady's twelve years' board, as also all other charges, as wearing-apparel, &c.
Sir Har. What is this you say? Did I give you my discharge from all retrospects, as you call it? and after all do you come with this and t'other, and all that? I find you are—I tell you, sir, to your face—I find you are——