Marriage, Sirrah.

_Char._ Sir, I obey: But--

Sir _Fran._ But me no Buts--Be gone, Sir: Dare to ask me for Money
agen--Refuse Forty Thousand Pound! Out of my Doors, I say, without
Reply.

(_Exit _Char_._

_Enter Servant._

_Serv._ One Sir _George Airy_ enquires for you, Sir.

_Enter _Marplot_ Running._

_Marpl._. Ha? gone! Is _Charles_ gone, Guardian?

Sir _Fran._ Yes; and I desire your wise Worship to walk after him.

_Marpl._ Nay, Egad, I shall Run, I tell you but that. Ah, Pox of the
Cashier for detaining me so long, where the Devil shall I find him now.
I shall certainly lose this Secret.
(_Exit, hastily._

Sir _Fran._ What is the Fellow distracted?--Desire Sir _George_ to walk
up--Now for a Tryal of Skill that will make me Happy, and him a Fool:
Ha, ha, ha, in my Mind he looks like an Ass already.

_Enter Sir _George_._