CARELESS. Come, Charles, what keeps you?

CHARLES. I can't come yet. I'faith, we are going to have a sale
above stairs; here's little Premium will buy all my ancestors!

CARELESS. Oh, burn your ancestors!

CHARLES. No, he may do that afterwards, if he pleases. Stay,
Careless, we want you: egad, you shall be auctioneer--so come
along with us.

CARELESS. Oh, have with you, if that's the case. I can handle
a hammer as well as a dice box! Going! going!

SIR OLIVER. Oh, the profligates! [Aside.]

CHARLES. Come, Moses, you shall be appraiser, if we want one.
Gad's life, little Premium, you don't seem to like the business?

SIR OLIVER. Oh, yes, I do, vastly! Ha! ha! ha! yes, yes, I think
it a rare joke to sell one's family by auction--ha! ha!--[Aside.]
Oh, the prodigal!

CHARLES. To be sure! when a man wants money, where the plague should
he get assistance, if he can't make free with his own relations?
[Exeunt.]

SIR OLIVER. I'll never forgive him; never! never!

END OF THE THIRD ACT