Jon.
Coming, coming, Sir.
(Tumbles the Papers.)
Oh! have I caught you?
(Stands up, shuts the Box, and puts his Foot out.)
Hum, hum, hum.
(Reads.)
My Brother Sir
Roger's Settlement upon Niece
Lettice. Ha! Sir, is this it?
Wild.
Ay, honest Jonathan, this, or nothing.
Jon.
Here, Sir.
To Letitia.
And give you Joy, Madam.
Aside.
And there's two; for when the Man has the Fortune, the Woman's his of Course.
To Tru.
Here, Sir, here's your Honoria's as close as —
Wild.
Come, no more Similies, but to work; let's see what else.
Jon.
Else! What i'th' the Name of Balzebub would you have else? You'd make the Devil of a Farmer— Crop and Gleanings too! Why, i'th' Name of Avarice, won't a Thousand Pound
(points to Let.)
a Year, besides so neat, tight, convenient a Pleasure-House upon it, serve turn? Enough, Enough—
Wild.
In all Conscience, but only Curiosity—
Jon.
Nay, I must confess that's a plaguy itching Distemper. But if you want a Rasp, a Rubber, or a Scratcher,
(points to Let.)
she'll—
Omnes, preter. Wild.
Ha, ha, ha.
Wild.
To th' Trunk, you Dog, and cease barking, or—
Jon.
Sir, I'd have you to know I am none of your barking Currs: Indeed, I do bite sometimes; I have Teeth, Sir, as shall appear when you'll give me leave to employ 'em.
Wild.
Sirrah!
Going towards him, Trulove interposes.
Tru.
Nay, prithee, make an end; for I see you will be the Disturber.
Jon.
Ay, ay, Sir, you see I love to distribute my Favours.
Goes to the Trunk, and stumbles over it, rubbing his Shins and Nose.
Madam Letitia! cry your Mercy— Pox on't, I thought it had been her by my Nose and Shins.
Wild.
Hellhound! let me come at him.
Trulove interposes again.
Omnes, preter. Wild.
Ha, ha, ha.
Tru.
Sirrah, dispatch, or I'll be gone, and leave you to his Mercy.
Jon.
squatting down before the Trunk.
Nay, then it's time to be serious.
Aside.
I must dispatch before Afternoon's Luncheon-time, or he'll have the whip hand of me, and make me languish till Supper.
Jon. pulls out several Papers, slings 'em by slightly, while he sings.
And when I was a little Boy I wash'd my Mother's Dishes,
I put my Fingers in the Pail, and pull'd out little Fishes.
(Pulling and heaving.)
Ho, up, Mass. This should be a swinger by the weight and gills.
(Pulls out a Parchment, with Labels.)
If this been't a Deed of weight, the Devil's in't. Oh—
(Reads.)
Securities for the Thousand Pound left by my Brother Sir
Roger to —
(Overturns the Trunk.)
Here, take 'em among you, for I've neither Encouragement nor Patience to stay any longer. Oons, here's Money enough to redeem the City Charter— Save ye, Gentle∣men; and pray remember the Civility-Money.
As he is going out, enters Lurcher, who over-runs him almost.
S bud, you blind Mill Horse, can't you see where you stumble?
Eurcher.
Make off, Gentlemen, and Ladies, all of you; here's Sir Fickle coming this way, and in a damn'd bad Humour, I can tell you so much.
Jon.
Nay, then, all Friends, come all Hands aloft.
They put in all the Papers, except one left on the Stage, Jon. takes the Trunk.