Marpl. Yes, ’tis to me, Sir; for the Gentleman you threaten is a very honest Gentleman.  Look to’t, for if he comes not as safe out of your House, as he went in, I have half a Dozen Mirmidons hard-by shall beat it about your Ears.

Sir Jeal. Went in; what is he in then?  Ah! a Combination to undo me—­I’ll Mirmidon you, ye Dog you—­Thieves, Thieves.
    (Beat’s Marplot_ all this while he cries Thieves._

Marpl. Murder, Murder; I was not in your House, Sir.

  Enter Servant.

Serv. What’s the matter, Sir?

Sir Jeal. The Matter, Rascals?  Have you let a Man into my House; but
I’ll flea him Alive, follow me, I’ll not leave a Mousehole unsearch’d;
if I find him, by St. Jago, I’ll Equip him for the Opera.
    (Exit.

Marpl. A Duce of his Cane, there’s no trusting to Age—­what shall I do to Relieve Charles! Egad, I’ll raise the Neighbourhood—­Murder, Murder—­ (__Charles_ drops down upon him from the Balcone._) Charles faith I’m glad to see thee safe out, with all my Heart.

Char. A Pox of your Bawling:  How the Devil came you here?

Marpl. Here, gad I have done you a piece of Service; I told the old Thunderbolt, that the Gentleman that was gone in was—­

Char. Was it you that told him, Sir? (Laying hold of him.) Z’death,
I cou’d crush thee into Atoms.
    (Exit Charles_._

Marpl. What will you choak me for my Kindness?—­will my Enquiring Soul never leave Searching into other Peoples Affairs, till it gets squeez’d out of my Body?  I dare not follow him now, for my Blood, he’s in such a Passion—­I’ll to Miranda; if I can discover ought that may oblige Sir George, it may be a means to Reconcile me agen to Charles.
    (Exit.

  Enter Sir Jealous_ and Servants._

Sir Jeal. Are you sure you have search’d every where?

Serv. Yes, from the Top of the House to the Bottom.

Sir Jeal. Under the Beds, and over the Beds?

Serv. Yes, and in them too, but found no Body, Sir.

Sir Jeal. Why, what cou’d this Rogue mean?

  Enter Isabinda_ and Patch._

Patch. Take Courage, Madam, I saw him safe out. (Aside to Isab_._

Isab. Bless me! what’s the matter, Sir?

Sir Jeal. You know best—­Pray where’s the Man that was here just now?

Isab. What Man, Sir?  I saw none!

Patch. Nor I, by the Trust you repose in me; do you think I wou’d let a Man come within these Doors, when you were absent?

Sir Jeal. Ah Patch, she may be too cunning for thy Honesty; the very Scout that he had set to give Warning discover’d it to me—­and threaten’d me with half a Dozen Mirmidons—­But I think I maul’d the Villain.  These Afflictions you draw upon me, Mistress!