Scentw. Madam, be pleas'd to tye this Neck-lace on; for I can't get it into the—
(Seeing Sir Francis.
Miran. The Wench is a Fool, I think! cou'd you not have carry'd it to be mended, without putting it in the Box?
Sir Fran. What's the matter?
Miran. Only Dear'e, I bid her, I bid her— Your ill Usage has put every thing out of my Head. But won't you go, Gardee, and find out these Fellows, and have them punish'd! and, and—
Sir Fran. Where shou'd I look them, Child? No I'll sit me down contented with my Safety, nor stir out of my own Doors, till I go with thee to a Parson.
Miran. (Aside.) If he goes into his Closet I am ruin'd. Oh! bless me in this Fright, I had forgot Mrs. Patch.
Patch. Ay, Madam, and I stay for your speedy Answer.
Miran. (Aside.) I must get him out of the House. Now assist me Fortune.
Sir Fran. Mrs. Patch, I profess I did not see you, how dost thou do, Mrs. Patch; well don't you repent leaving my Chargee?