The Busie Body Part 5

_Miran._ Unconscionable old Wretch, Bribe me with my own Money--Which way shall I get out of his Hands?

(_Aside._

Sir _Fran._ Well, what art thou thinking on, my Girl, ha? How to Banter Sir _George?_

_Miran._ I must not pretend to Banter: He knows my Tongue too well: (_Aside._) No, _Gardy_, I have thought of a way will Confound him more than all I cou'd say, if I shou'd talk to him Seven Years.

Sir _Fran._ How's that? Oh! I'm Transported, I'm Ravish'd, I'm Mad--

_Miran._ It wou'd make you Mad, if you knew All, (_Aside._) I'll not Answer him one Word, but be Dumb to all he says--

Sir _Fran._ Dumb, good; Ha, ha, ha. Excellent, ha, ha, I think I have you now, Sir _George_: Dumb! he'll go Distracted--Well, she's the wittiest Rogue--Ha, ha, Dumb! I can but Laugh, ha, ha, to think how d.a.m.n'd Mad he'll be when he finds he has given his Money away for a a Dumb Show. Ha, ha, ha.

_Miran._ Nay, _Gardy_, if he did but know my Thoughts of him, it wou'd make him ten times Madder: Ha, ha, ha.

Sir _Fran._ Ay, so it wou'd _Chargy_, to hold him in such Derision, to scorn to Answer him, to be Dumb: Ha, ha, ha, ha.

_Enter _Charles_._

Sir _Fran._ How now, Sirrah, Who let you in?

_Char._ My Necessity, Sir.

Sir _Fran._ Sir, your Necessities are very Impertinent, and ought to have sent before they Entred.

_Char._ Sir, I knew 'twas a Word wou'd gain Admittance no where.

Sir _Fran._ Then, Sirrah, how durst you Rudely thrust that upon your Father, which no Body else wou'd admit?

_Char._ Sure the Name of a Son is a sufficient Plea. I ask this Lady's Pardon if I have intruded.

Sir _Fran._ Ay, Ay, ask her Pardon and her Blessing too, if you expect any thing from me.

_Miran._ I believe yours, Sir _Francis_, in a Purse of Guinea's wou'd be more material. Your Son may have Business with you, I'll retire.

Sir _Fran._ I guess his Business, but I'll dispatch him, I expect the Knight every Minute: You'll be in Readiness.

_Miran._ Certainly! my Expectation is more upon the wing than yours, old Gentleman.

[_Exit._

Sir _Fran._ Well, Sir!

_Char._ Nay, it is very Ill, Sir; my Circ.u.mstances are, I'm sure.

Sir _Fran,_ And what's that to me, Sir: Your Management shou'd have made them better.

_Char._ If you please to intrust me with the Management of my Estate, I shall endeavour it, Sir.

Sir _Fran._ What to set upon a Card, and buy a Lady's Favour at the Price of a Thousand Pieces, to Rig out an Equipage for a Wench, or by your Carelessness enrich your Steward to fine for Sheriff, or put up for Parliament-Man.

_Char._ I hope I shou'd not spend it this way: However, I ask only for what my Uncle left me; Your's you may dispose of as you please, Sir.

Sir _Fran._ That I shall, out of your Reach, I a.s.sure you, Sir. Adod these young Fellows think old Men get Estates for nothing but them to squander away, in Dicing, Wenching, Drinking, Dressing, and so forth.

_Char._ I think I was born a Gentleman, Sir; I'm sure my Uncle bred me like one.

Sir _Fran._ From which you wou'd infer, Sir, that Gaming, Whoring, and the Pox, are Requisits to a Gentleman.

_Char._ Monstrous! when I wou'd ask him only for a Support, he falls into these unmannerly Reproaches; I must, tho' against my Will, employ Invention, and by Stratagem relieve my self.

(_Aside._

Sir _Fran._ Sirrah, what is it you mutter, Sirrah, ha? (_Holds up his Cane._) I say, you sha'n't have a Groat out of my Hands till I Please--and may be I'll never Please, and what's that to you?

_Char._ Nay, to be Robb'd, or have one's Throat Cut is not much--

Sir _Fran._ What's that, Sirrah? wou'd ye Rob me, or Cut my Throat, ye Rogue?

_Char._ Heaven forbid, Sir,--I said no such thing.

Sir _Fran._ Mercy on me! What a Plague it is to have a Son of One and Twenty, who wants to Elbow one out of one's Life, to Edge himself into the Estate.

_Enter _Marplot_._

_Marpl._ Egad he's here--I was afraid I had lost him: His Secret cou'd not be with his Father, his Wants are Publick there--Guardian,--your Servant _Charles_, I know by that sorrowful Countenance of thine. The old Man's Fist is as close as his strong Box--But I'll help thee--

Sir _Fran._ So: Here's another extravagant c.o.xcomb, that will spend his Fortune before he comes to't; but he shall pay swinging Interest, and so let the Fool go on--Well, what do's Necessity bring you too, Sir?

_Marpl._ You have hit it, Guardian--I want a Hundred Pound.

Sir _Fran._ For what?

_Marpl._ Po'gh, for a Hundred Things, I can't for my Life tell you for what.

_Char._ Sir, I suppose I have received all the Answer I am like to have.

_Marpl._ Oh, the Devil, if he gets out before me, I shall lose him agen.

Sir _Fran._ Ay, Sir, and you may be marching as soon as you please--I must see a Change in your Temper e'er you find one in mine.

_Marpl._ Pray, Sir, dispatch me; the Money, Sir, I'm in mighty haste.

Sir _Fran._ Fool, take this and go to the Cashier; I sha'n't be long plagu'd with thee.

(_Gives him a Note._

_Marpl._ Devil take the Cashier, I shall certainly have _Charles_ gone before I come back agen.

(_Runs out._

_Char._ Well, Sir, I take my Leave--But remember, you Expose an only Son to all the Miseries of wretched Poverty, which too often lays the Plan for Scenes of Mischief.