Sir Jeal. Ha, ha, ha, 'tis some Comfort at least to see you are over-reach'd as well as my self. Will you settle your Estate upon your Son now?
Sir Fran. He shall starve first.
Miran. That I have taken care to prevent. There, Sir, is the Writings of your Uncle's Estate, which has been your due these three Years.
(Gives Char. Papers.
Char. I shall study to deserve this Favour.
Sir Fran. What have you robb'd me too, Mistress! Egad I'll make you restore 'em.— Huswife, I will so.
Sir Jeal. Take care I don't make you pay the Arrears, Sir. 'Tis well it's no worse, since 'tis no better. Come, young Man, seeing thou hast out-witted me, take her, and Bless you both.
Char. I hope, Sir, you'll bestow your Blessing too, 'tis all I'll ask.
(Kneels.
Sir Fran. Confound you all!