Miran. One thing more, advise him to keep from the Garden Gate on the left Hand; for if he dares to saunter there, about the Hour of Eight, as he used to do, he shall be saluted with a Pistol or a Blunderbuss.
Sir Fran. Oh monstrous! why Chargee; did he use to come to the Garden Gate?
Miran. The Gardner describ'd just such another Man that always watch'd his coming out, and fain wou'd have bribed him for his Entrance—tell him he shall find a warm Reception if he comes this Night.
Marpl. Pistols and Blunderbusses! Egad, a warm Reception indeed; I shall take care to inform him of your Kindness, and advise him to keep farther off.
Miran. I hope he will understand my Meaning better, than to follow your Advice.
(Aside.
Sir Fran. Thou hast sign'd, seal'd, and ta'en Possession of my Heart; for ever, Chargee, Ha, ha, ha; and for you, Mr. Sauce-box, let me have no more of your Messages, if ever you design to inherit your Estate, Gentleman.
Marpl. Why there 'tis now. Sure I shall be out of your Clutches one Day.— Well, Guardian, I say no more; but if you be not as errant a Cuckold, as e're drove Bargain upon the Exchange, or paid Attendance to a Court; I am the Son of a Whetstone; and so your humble Servant.
(Exit.
Miran. Don't forget the Message; Ha, ha.