Patch. I thought it was only the old Strain, coaxing him still for your own, and railing at all the young Fellows about Town; in my Mind now, you are as ill plagu'd with your Guardian, Madam, as my Lady is with her Father.
Miran. No, I have Liberty, Wench, that she wants; what would she give now to be in this dissabilee in the—open Air, nay more, in pursuit of the young Fellow she likes; for that's my Case, I assure thee.
Patch. As for that, Madam, she's even with you; for tho' she can't come abroad, we have a way to bring him home in spight of old Argus.
Miran. Now Patch, your Opinion of my Choice, for here he comes— Ha! my Guardian with him; what can be the meaning of this? I'm sure Sir Francis can't know me in this Dress— Let's observe 'em.
(They withdraw.
Enter Sir Francis Gripe and Sir George Airy.
Sir Fran. Verily, Sir George, thou wilt repent throwing away thy Money so, for I tell thee sincerely, Miranda, my Charge do's not love a young Fellow, they are all vicious, and seldom make good Husbands; in sober Sadness she cannot abide 'em.
Miran. (Peeping.) In sober Sadness you are mistaken—what can this mean?
Sir Geo. Look ye, Sir Francis, whether she can or cannot abide young Fellows is not the Business; will you take the fifty Guineas?
Sir Fran. In good truth— I will not, for I knew thy Father, he was a hearty wary Man, and I cannot consent that his Son should squander away what he sav'd, to no purpose.