Miran. Oh, don't call Names. I know you love to be employ'd, and I'll oblige you; and you shall carry him a Message from me.
Marpl. According as I like it: What is it?
Miran. Nay, a kind one you may be sure— First tell him, I have chose this Gentleman to have, and to hold, and so forth.
(Clapping her Hand into Sir Francis's.
Sir Fran. Oh the dear Rogue, how I dote on her!
(Aside.
Miran. And advise his Impertinence to trouble me no more, for I prefer Sir Francis for a Husband before all the Fops in the Universe.
Marpl. Oh Lord, Oh Lord! She's bewitch'd, that's certain; Here's a Husband for Eighteen— Here's a Shape— Here's Bones ratling in a Leathern Bag. (Turning Sir Francis about.) Here's Buckram, and Canvass, to scrub you to Repentance.
Sir Fran. Sirrah, my Cane shall teach you Repentance presently.
Marpl. No faith, I have felt its Twin-Brother from just such a wither'd Hand too lately.