pass, the what--d'ye call 'em Ambassadors.

_Miran._ Nay, I'm sure the Discreet Part of my Sex will Envy me more for
the Inside Furniture, when you are in it, than my Outside Equipage.

Sir _Fran._ A Cunning Bagage, a faith thou art, and a wise one too; and
to show thee thou hast not chose amiss, I'll this moment Disinherit my
Son, and Settle my whole Estate upon thee.

_Miran._ There's an old Rogue now: (_Aside._) No, _Gardy_, I would not
have your Name be so Black in the World--You know my Father's Will runs,
that I am not to possess my Estate, without your Consent, till I'm Five
and Twenty; you shall only abate the odd Seven Years, and make me
Mistress of my Estate to Day, and I'll make you Master of my Person to
Morrow.

Sir _Fran._ Humph? that may not be safe--No _Chargy_, I'll Settle it
upon thee for _Pin-mony_; and that will be every bit as well, thou
know'st.

_Miran._ Unconscionable old Wretch, Bribe me with my own Money--Which
way shall I get out of his Hands?
(_Aside._

Sir _Fran._ Well, what art thou thinking on, my Girl, ha? How to Banter
Sir _George?_

_Miran._ I must not pretend to Banter: He knows my Tongue too well:
(_Aside._) No, _Gardy_, I have thought of a way will Confound him more
than all I cou'd say, if I shou'd talk to him Seven Years.

Sir _Fran._ How's that? Oh! I'm Transported, I'm Ravish'd, I'm Mad--

_Miran._ It wou'd make you Mad, if you knew All, (_Aside._) I'll not
Answer him one Word, but be Dumb to all he says--

Sir _Fran._ Dumb, good; Ha, ha, ha. Excellent, ha, ha, I think I have
you now, Sir _George_: Dumb! he'll go Distracted--Well, she's the
wittiest Rogue--Ha, ha, Dumb! I can but Laugh, ha, ha, to think how
damn'd Mad he'll be when he finds he has given his Money away for a a
Dumb Show. Ha, ha, ha.

_Miran._ Nay, _Gardy_, if he did but know my Thoughts of him, it wou'd
make him ten times Madder: Ha, ha, ha.

Sir _Fran._ Ay, so it wou'd _Chargy_, to hold him in such Derision, to
scorn to Answer him, to be Dumb: Ha, ha, ha, ha.

_Enter _Charles_._

Sir _Fran._ How now, Sirrah, Who let you in?

_Char._ My Necessity, Sir.

Sir _Fran._ Sir, your Necessities are very Impertinent, and ought to
have sent before they Entred.

_Char._ Sir, I knew 'twas a Word wou'd gain Admittance no where.

Sir _Fran._ Then, Sirrah, how durst you Rudely thrust that upon your
Father, which no Body else wou'd admit?

_Char._ Sure the Name of a Son is a sufficient Plea. I ask t