Sir Fran. (Going back.) A Bloody-minded Fellow!—
Sir Geo. Not Answer me! Perhaps she thinks my Address too Grave: I'll be more free— Can you be so Unconscionable, Madam, to let me say all these fine things to you without one single Compliment in Return? View me well, am I not a proper Handsome Fellow, ha? Can you prefer that old, dry, wither'd, sapless Log of Sixty-five, to the vigorous, gay, sprightly Love of Twenty-four? With Snoring only he'll awake thee, but I with Ravishing Delight wou'd make thy Senses Dance in Consort with the Joyful Minutes—ha? not yet, sure she is Dumb— Thus wou'd I steal and touch thy Beauteous Hand, (Takes bold of her Hand) till by degrees I reach'd thy snowy Breasts, then Ravish Kisses thus,
(Embraces her in Extasie.
Miran. (Strugles and flings from him.) Oh Heavens! I shall not be able to contain my self.
(Aside.
Sir Fran. (Running up with his Watch in his Hand.) Sure she did not speak to him— There's Three Quarters of the Hour gone, Sir George— Adod, I don't like those close Conferences—
Sir Geo. More Interruptions— You will have it, Sir.
(Lays his Hand to his Sword.
Sir Fran. (Going back.) No, no, you shan't have her neither.
(Aside.