Sir Fran. But me no Buts— Be gone, Sir: Dare to ask me for Money agen— Refuse Forty Thousand Pound! Out of my Doors, I say, without Reply.
(Exit Char.
Enter Servant.
Serv. One Sir George Airy enquires for you, Sir.
Enter Marplot Running.
Marpl.. Ha? gone! Is Charles gone, Guardian?
Sir Fran. Yes; and I desire your wise Worship to walk after him.
Marpl. Nay, Egad, I shall Run, I tell you but that. Ah, Pox of the Cashier for detaining me so long, where the Devil shall I find him now. I shall certainly lose this Secret.
(Exit, hastily.
Sir Fran. What is the Fellow distracted?— Desire Sir George to walk up— Now for a Tryal of Skill that will make me Happy, and him a Fool: Ha, ha, ha, in my Mind he looks like an Ass already.