Sots, let's see if we can find the Dog again. _Patch_, lock her up; D'ye
hear?
(_Exit with Servants._

_Patch._ Yes, Sir--ay, walk till your Heels ake, you'll find no Body, I
promise you.

_Isab._ Who cou'd that Scout be, which he talks of?

_Patch._ Nay, I can't imagine, without it was _Whisper_.

_Isab._ Well, dear _Patch_, let's employ all our Thoughts how to escape
this horrid Don _Diego_, my very Heart sinks at his Terrible Name.

_Patch._ Fear not, Madam, Don _Carlo_ shall be the Man, or I'll lose the
Reputation of Contriving, and then what's a Chambermaid good for?

_Isab._ Say'st thou so, my Girl: Then--
_Let Dad be Jealous, multiply his Cares,
While Love instructs me to avoid the Snares;
I'll, spight of all his _Spanish_ Caution, show
How much for Love a _British_ Maid can do._
(Exit.

SCENE _Sir _Francis Gripe_'s House._

_Sir _Francis_ and _Miranda_ meeting._

_Miran._ Well, _Gardee_, how did I perform my Dumb Scene?

Sir _Fran._ To Admiration--Thou dear little Rogue, let me buss thee for
it: Nay, adod, I will, _Chargee_, so muzle, and tuzle, and hug thee; I
will, I faith, I will.
(_Hugging and Kissing her._

_Miran._ Nay, _Gardee_, don't be so lavish; who wou'd Ride Post, when
the Journey lasts for Life?

Sir _Fran._ Ah wag, ah wag--I'll buss thee agen for that.

_Miran._ Faugh! how he stinks of Tobacco! what a delicate Bedfellow I
shou'd have!
(_Aside._

Sir _Fran._ Oh I'm Transported! When, when, my Dear, wilt thou Convince
the World of thy Happy Day? when shall we marry, ha?

_Miran._ There's nothing wanting but your Consent, Sir _Francis_.

Sir _Fran._ My Consent! what do's my Charmer mean?

_Miran._ Nay, 'tis only a Whim: But I'll have every thing according to
form--Therefore when you sign an Authentick Paper, drawn up by an able
Lawyer, that I have your Leave to marry, the next Day makes me yours,
_Gardee_.

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, a Whim indeed! why is it not Demonstration I
give my Leave when I marry thee.

_Miran._ Not for your Reputation, _Gardee_; the malicious World will be
apt to say, you trick'd me into Marriage, and so take the Merit from my
Choice. Now I will have the Act my own, to let the idle Fops see how
much I prefer a Man loaded with Years and Wisdom.

Sir _Fran._ Humph! Prithee leave out Years, _Chargee_, I'm not so old,
as thou shalt find: Adod, I'm young; there's a Caper for ye.
(_Jumps_.

_Miran._ Oh never excuse it, why I