Sir Fran. I am so provok'd!—'tis well he's gone.
Miran. Oh mind him not, Gardee, but let's sign Articles, and then—
Sir Fran. And then— Adod, I believe I am Metamorphos'd; my Pulse beats high, and my Blood boils, methinks—
(Kissing and Hugging her.
Miran. Oh fye, Gardee, be not so violent; Consider the Market lasts all the Year— Well, I'll in and see if the Lawyer be come, you'll follow.
(Exit.
Sir Fran. Ay, to the World's End, my Dear. Well, Franck, thou art a lucky Fellow in thy old Age, to have such a delicate Morsel, and Thirty Thousand Pound in love with thee; I shall be the Envy of Batchelors, the Glory of Marry'd Men, and the Wonder of the Town. Some Guardians wou'd be glad to compound for part of the Estate, at dispatching an Heiress, but I engross the whole: O! Mihi præteritos referet si Jupiter Annos.
(Exit.
SCENE Changes to a Tavern; discovers Sir George and Charles with Wine before them, and Whisper waiting.