Sir Per. Give it me, sir.

John. An’t please you, sir, it is not mine.

Sir Per. Deliver it this instant, sirrah, or I’ll break your head.

John. [Giving the letter.] There, there your honour.

Sir Per. Begone, rascal.—­This, I suppose, will let us intill the whole business.

John. [Aside..] You have got the letter, old surly, but the packet is safe in my pocket.  I’ll go and deliver that, however, for I will be true to poor Mrs. Constantia in spite of you. [Exit.

Sir Per. [Reading the letter.] Um—­um ’and bless my eyes with the sight of you.’—­Um—­um ‘throw myself into your dear arms.’  Zoons! ’this letter is invaluable.—–­Aha! madam—­yes—­this will do—­this will do, I think.—­Let me see, how is it directed—­’To Mr. Melville.’  Vary weel.
    [Enter Betty.]
O!  Betty, you are an excellent wench,—­this letter is worth a million.

Bet. Is it as I suspected?—­to her gallant?

Sir Per. It is—­it is.—­Bid Constantia pack out of the house this instant—­and let them get a chaise ready to carry her wherever she pleases.—­But first send my wife and son hither.

Bet. I shall, sir.

Sir Per. Do so—­begone. [Exit Betty.] Aha!  Maister Charles,—­I believe I shall cure you of your passion for a beggar now.—­I think he cannot be so infatuated as to be a dupe till a strumpet.—­Let me see—­how am I to act now?—­Why, like a true politician, I must pretend most sincerity where I intend most deceit.

    Enter EGERTON, and Lady MACSYCOPHANT.

Weel, Charles, notwithstanding the misery you have brought upon me,—­I have sent for you and your mother in order to convince you both of my affection and my readiness to forgive,—­nay, and even to indulge your perverse passion:—­for, since I find this Constantia has got hold of your heart, and that your mother and you think that you can never be happy without her, why, I’ll nai longer oppose your inclinations.

Eger. Dear sir, you snatch me from sharpest misery;—­on my knees let my heart thank you for this goodness.

Lady Mac. Let me express my thanks too,—­and my joy;—­for had you not consented to his marrying her, we all should have been miserable.

Sir Per. Weel; I am glad I have found a way to please you both at last.—­But, my dear Charles, suppose now that this spotless vestal,—­this wonder of virtue,—­this idol of your heart—­shou’d be a concealed wanton after aw,—­or shou’d have an engagement of marriage or an intrigue with another man,—­and is only making a dupe of you aw this time:—­I say, only suppose it, Charles—­what wou’d you think of her?

Eger. I should think her the most deceitful, and the most subtle of her sex, and, if possible, would never think of her again.