her,
or I had not parted with thee to her Father.

_Patch._ But, Madam, the Report is that you are going to marry your
Guardian.

_Miran._ It is necessary such a Report shou'd be, _Patch_.

_Patch._ But is it true, Madam?

_Miran._ That's not absolutely necessary.

_Patch._ I thought it was only the old Strain, coaxing him still for
your own, and railing at all the young Fellows about Town; in my Mind
now, you are as ill plagu'd with your Guardian, Madam, as my Lady is
with her Father.

_Miran._ No, I have Liberty, Wench, that she wants; what would she give
now to be in this _dissabilee_ in the--open Air, nay more, in pursuit of
the young Fellow she likes; for that's my Case, I assure thee.

_Patch._ As for that, Madam, she's even with you; for tho' she can't
come abroad, we have a way to bring him home in spight of old _Argus_.

_Miran._ Now _Patch_, your Opinion of my Choice, for here he comes--Ha!
my Guardian with him; what can be the meaning of this? I'm sure Sir
_Francis_ can't know me in this Dress--Let's observe 'em.
(_They
withdraw._

_Enter Sir _Francis Gripe_ and Sir _George Airy_._

Sir _Fran._ Verily, Sir _George_, thou wilt repent throwing away thy
Money so, for I tell thee sincerely, _Miranda_, my Charge do's not love
a young Fellow, they are all vicious, and seldom make good Husbands; in
sober Sadness she cannot abide 'em.

_Miran._ (_Peeping._) In sober Sadness you are mistaken--what can this
mean?

Sir _Geo._ Look ye, Sir _Francis_, whether she can or cannot abide young
Fellows is not the Business; will you take the fifty Guineas?

Sir _Fran._ In good truth--I will not, for I knew thy Father, he was a
hearty wary Man, and I cannot consent that his Son should squander away
what he sav'd, to no purpose.

_Mirand._ (_Peeping._) Now, in the Name of Wonder, what Bargain can he
be driving about me for fifty Guineas?

_Patch._ I wish it ben't for the first Night's Lodging, Madam.

Sir _Geo._ Well, Sir _Francis_, since you are so conscientious for my
Father's sake, then permit me the Favour, _Gratis_.

_Miran._ (_Peeping._) The Favour! Oh my Life! I believe 'tis as you
said, _Patch_.

Sir _Fran._ No verily, if thou dost not buy thy Experience, thou wou'd
never be wise; therefore give me a Hundred and try Fortune.

Sir _Geo._ The Scruples arose, I find, from the scanty Sum--Let me
see--a Hundred Guineas-- (_Takes 'em out of a Purse and chinks 'em._)
Ha! they have a very pretty Sou