Sir _Tim_. Why, Lord, Sir, will you persuade me to that? Don't you know
that your Father (according to the Method in such Cases, being certain
of my Estate) came to me thus--Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_,--you are a young
Gentleman, and a Knight, I knew your Father well, and my right
worshipful Neighbour, our Estates lie together; therefore, Sir, I have a
desire to have a near Relation with you--At which, I interrupted him,
and cry'd--Oh Lord, Sir, I vow to Fortune, you do me the greatest
Honour, Sir, and the rest--

_Bel_. I can endure no more; he marry fair _Celinda_!

_Friend_. Prithee let him alone. [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. To which he answer'd--I have a good Fortune--have but my Son
_Ned_, and this Girl, call'd _Celinda_, whom I will make a Fortune,
sutable to yours; your honoured Mother, the Lady _Tawdrey_, and I, have
as good as concluded the Match already. To which I (who, though I say
it, am well enough bred for a Knight) answered the Civility thus--I vow
to Fortune, Sir--I did not swear, but cry'd--I protest, Sir, _Celinda_,
deserves--no, no, I lye again, 'twas merits--Ay, _Celinda_--merits a
much better Husband than I.

_Friend_. You speak more Truth than you are aware of. [_Aside_.]
Well, Sir, I'll bring you to my Sister; and if she likes you, as well as
My Father does, she's yours; otherwise, I have so much Tenderness for
her, as to leave her Choice free.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, Sir, you compliment. _Alons, Entrons.