_Sir Sim._ Nay! Thou know'st, indeed, my child,
How I do love thee. 'Tis a good young man,
And wealthy--no fool, like his brother. Fool,
Said I?--a madman, ape, dolt, idiot, ass,
An honourable ass to give the land
His weak sire left him, to our Basil--Ha!
_He'll_ give none back, I think !--no! no!
Come, girl!
Wouldst thou be foolish, too? I would not marry
For money only, understand--no! no!
That I abhor, detest, but in my life
I never saw a sweeter, properer youth.
You like him not? Tush! marriage doth bring liking.
Ay! love too--you are young!

_Flor._ But, I've enough--
Why wed at all?

_Sir Sim._ Girl! girl! I say, would'st drive
Thy father mad! A very handsome man,
A healthy fine young man--lands joining too!
Nay! I could curse you, wench! Not have him?
This
Comes from your mawkish sentiment. You are
No child of mine--

_Flor._ Dear father! Hear me!

_Sir Sim._ Mark!
You're not of legal age--I'll drive you forth.