The Busie Body | Page 5

keep me from starving.
Sir _Geo._ Now you see Gold can't do every thing, Charles.
_Cha._ Yes, for 'tis her Gold that bars my Father's Gate against you.
Sir _Geo._ Why, if he is this avaricious Wretch, how cam'st thou by such a Liberal Education?
_Cha._ Not a Souse out of his Pocket, I assure you; I had an Uncle who defray'd that Charge, but for some litte Wildnesses of Youth, tho' he made me his Heir, left Dad my Guardian till I came to Years of Discretion, which I presume the old Gentleman will never think I am; and now he has got the Estate into his Clutches, it does me no more good, than if it lay in _Prester John_'s Dominions.
Sir _Geo._ What can'st thou find no Stratagem to redeem it?
_Cha._ I have made many Essays to no purpose; tho' Want, the Mistress of Invention, still tempts me on, yet still the old Fox is too cunning for me--I am upon my last Project, which if it fails, then for my last Refuge, a Brown Musquet.
Sir _Geo._ What is't, can I assist thee?
_Cha._ Not yet, when you can, I have Confidence enough in you to ask it.
Sir _Geo._ I am always ready, but what do's he intend to do with _Miranda?_ Is she to be sold in private? or will he put her up by way of Auction, at who bids most? If so, Egad, I'm for him: my Gold, as you say, shall be subservient to my Pleasure.
_Cha._ To deal ingeniously with you, Sir George, I know very little of Her, or Home; for since my Uncle's Death, and my Return from Travel, I have never been well with my Father; he thinks my Expences too great, and I his Allowance too little; he never sees me, but he quarrels; and to avoid that, I shun his House as much as possible. The Report is, he intends to marry her himself.
Sir _Geo._ Can she consent to it?
_Cha._ Yes faith, so they say; but I tell you, I am wholly ignorant of the matter. Miranda and I are like two violent Members of a contrary Party, I can scarce allow her Beauty, tho' all the World do's; nor she me Civility, for that Contempt, I fancy she plays the Mother-in-law already, and sets the old Gentleman on to do mischief.
Sir _Geo._ Then I've your free Consent to get her.
_Cha._ Ay and my helping-hand, if occasion be.
Sir _Geo._ Pugh, yonder's a Fool coming this way, let's avoid him.
_Cha._ What Marplot, no no, he's my Instrument; there's a thousand Conveniences in him, he'll lend me his Money when he has any, run of my Errands and be proud on't; in short, he'll Pimp for me, Lye for me, Drink for me, do any thing but Fight for me, and that I trust to my own Arm for.
Sir _Geo._ Nay then he's to be endur'd; I never knew his Qualifications before.
_Enter Marplot with a Patch cross his Face._
_Marpl._ Dear Charles, your's,--Ha! Sir George Airy, the Man in the World, I have an Ambition to be known to (aside.) Give me thy Hand, dear Boy--
_Cha._ A good Assurance! But heark ye, how came your Beautiful Countenance clouded in the wrong place?
_Marpl._ I must confess 'tis a little _Mal-a-propos_, but no matter for that; a Word with you, _Charles_; Prithee, introduce me to Sir _George_--he is a Man of Wit, and I'd give ten Guinea's to--
_Cha._ When you have 'em, you mean.
_Marpl._ Ay, when I have 'em; pugh, pox, you cut the Thread of my Discourse--I wou'd give ten Guinea's, I say, to be rank'd in his Acquaintance: Well, 'tis a vast Addition to a Man's Fortune, according to the Rout of the World, to be seen in the Company of Leading Men; for then we are all thought to be Politicians, or Whigs, or Jacks, or High-Flyers, or Low-Flyers, or Levellers--and so forth; for you must know, we all herd in Parties now.
_Cha._ Then a Fool for Diversion is out of Fashion, I find.
_Marpl._ Yes, without it be a mimicking Fool, and they are Darlings every where; but prithee introduce me.
_Cha._ Well, on Condition you'll give us a true Account how you came by that Mourning Nose, I will.
_Marpl._ I'll do it.
_Cha._ Sir George, here's a Gentleman has a passionate Desire to kiss your Hand.
Sir _Geo._ Oh, I honour Men of the Sword, and I presume this Gentleman is lately come from Spain or _Portugal_--by his Scars.
_Marpl._ No really, Sir George, mine sprung from civil Fury, happening last Night into the Groom-Porters--I had a strong Inclination to go ten Guineas with a sort of a, sort of a--kind of a Milk Sop, as I thought: A Pox of the Dice he flung out, and my Pockets being empty as Charles knows they sometimes are, he prov'd