Col. Why, really, Madam, after all, you have so pretty, so winning an Air, that o’ my Conscience, I think, I cou’d marry you.

La. Rod. And, really, Collonel, you have so silly, so sneaking an Air, that o’ my Conscience, you’ll make an excellent Husband; but I’m afraid, Collonel, you are so tainted with French Principles, having forag’d in that Country, you’ll be for Tyranny, and arbitrary Government.

Col. And I’m afraid, Madam, you’re so obstinate in English Principles, you’ll submit to no Government at all—­but the Age has adjusted that matter, for marry’d People now-a-days are the quietest, best natur’d Creatures, and live together like Brother and Sister.

La. Rod. Nay, of marry’d Folks, a Soldier’s Wife is the happiest, for half the Year you’re in Flanders, and one an’t plagu’d with you.

Col. And t’other half we are busie in raising Recruits, and don’t much disturb you.

La. Rod. Positively, Collonel, I’ll not have abundance of Children.

Col. As few as you please, Madam.

La. Rod. For to be mew’d up in a Nursery, with six dirty Boys, those diminutive Apes, of the Father’s dull Species.

Col. And as many trolloping Girls, that are the greatest Drugs in Nature—­Well, Madam, since we’re come to talk of Procreation, it must be a Match; and tho’ I courted you in a careless way, to please your Humour, know now, I do love thee beyond measure; thou shalt have Progeny innumerable; we’ll walk to Church with our good Deeds after us; and let ’em be dull or homely, as we must suppose ’em, when they are lawfully begot, there is a Pleasure, a Tenderness in nursing Children, which none but Mothers know.

Sir Har. Why isn’t this better now than fretting and fuming at one another; People shou’d marry first, and quarrel afterwards.  Oh! here comes pretty Mrs. Lovejoy, and some more of the good Family.

Enter Nicknack, and Mrs. Lovejoy.

Nick. Well, Madam, how does your Ladyship like the Air o’ Matrimony.

La. Rod. Extremely well, Mr. Nicknack, methinks my Cousin and you make a most suitable, agreeable Couple, ’tis pity but you were marry’d in earnest.

Mrs. Lov. In earnest, Madam! pray what have we been doing all this while.

Nick. Doing, Precious, does the chatt’ring over a few Words by her Ladyship’s spruce Footman, in his fine Head o’ Hair signify any thing; don’t let your Faith intoxicate you neither.

Mrs. Lov. No, Precious, but the chattering over a few Words by a spruce Parson, in his fine Head o’ Hair, which I took care to provide, and put into her Ladyship’s Livery, does signifie somewhat.

Nick. Ha!

La. Rod. What Cousin, have you depriv’d me of my Lover?