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 praeteritos referet si Jupiter Annos._
(Exit.

SCENE _Changes to a Tavern; discovers Sir _George_ and _Charles_ with
Wine before them, and _Whisper_ waiting._

Sir _Geo._ Nay, prithee don't be Grave, _Charles;_ Misfortunes will
happen: Ha, ha, ha, 'tis some Comfort to have a Companion in our
Sufferings.

_Char._ I am only apprehensive for _Isabinda_, her Father's Humour is
implacable; and how far his Jealousie may transport him to her Undoing,
shocks my Soul to think.

Sir _Geo._ But since you escap'd undiscover'd by him, his Rage will
quickly lash into a Calm, never fear it.

_Char._ But who knows what that unlucky Dog, _Marplot_, told him; nor
can I imagine what brought him thither; that Fellow is ever doing
Mischief; and yet, to give him his due, he never designs it. This is
some Blundering Adventure, wherein he thought to shew his Friendship, as
he calls it: A Curse on him.

Sir _Geo._ Then you must forgive him; what said he?

_Char._ Said! nay, I had more mind to cut his Throat, than hear his
Excuses.

Sir _Geo._ Where is he?

_Whisp._ Sir, I saw him go into Sir _Francis Gripe_'s just now.

_Char._ Oh! then he is upon your Business, Sir _George_; a thousand to
one, but he makes some Mistake there too.

Sir _Geo._ Impossible, without he huffs the Lady, and makes Love to Sir
_Francis_.

_Enter Drawer._

_Draw._ Mr. _Marplot_ is below, Gentlemen, and desires to know if he may
have Leave to wait upon ye.

_Char._ How civil the Rogue is when he has done a fault!

Sir _Geo._ Ho! Desire him to walk up. Prithee, _Charles_, throw off this
Chagreen, and be good Company.

_Char._ Nay, hang him, I'm not angry with him. _Whisper_, fetch me Pen,
Ink and Paper.

_Whisp._ Yes, Sir.

(_Ex. _Whisp_._

_Enter _Marplot_._

_Char._ Do but mark his sheepish Look, Sir _George_.

_Marpl._ Dear _Charles,_ don't o'erwhelm a Man--already under
insupportable Affliction. I'm sure I always intend to serve my Friends;
but if my malicious Stars deny the Happiness, is the fault mine?

Sir _Geo._ Never mind him, Mr. _Marplot_, he is eat up with Spleen. But
tell me, what says _Miranda?_

_Marpl._ Says--nay, we are all undone there too.

_Char._ I told you so; nothing prospers that he undertakes.

_Marpl._ Why can I help her ha