I will marry your youngeſt daughter; your youngeſt daughter will marry me.—
Sterl. Who told you ſo, my Lord?
Lord Ogle. Her own ſweet ſelf, Sir.
Sterl. Indeed?
Lord Ogle. Yes, Sir: our affection is mutual; your advantage double and treble—your daughter will be a Counteſs directly—I ſhall be the happieſt of beings—and you'll be father to an Earl inſtead of a Baronet.
Sterl. But what will my ſiſter ſay?—and my daughter?
Lord Ogle. I'll manage that matter—nay, if they won't conſent, I'll run away with your daughter in ſpite of you.
Sterl. Well ſaid, my Lord!—your ſpirit's good—I wiſh you had my conſtitution!—but if you'll venture, I have no objection, if my ſiſter has none.
Lord Ogle. I'll anſwer for your ſiſter, Sir. Apropos! the lawyers are in the houſe—I'll have articles drawn, and the whole affair concluded to-morrow morning.
Sterl. Very well: and I'll diſpatch Lovewell to London immediately for ſome freſh papers I ſhall want, and I ſhall leave you to manage matters with my ſiſter. You muſt excuſe me, my Lord, but I can't help laughing at the match—He! he! he! what will the folks ſay? [Exit.
Lord Ogle. What a fellow am I going to make a father of?—He has no more feeling than the poſt in his warehouſe—But Fanny's virtues tune me to rapture again, and I won't think of the reſt of the family.
Enter Lovewell haſtily.
Lovew. I beg your Lordſhip's pardon, my Lord; are you alone, my Lord?
Lord Ogle. No, my Lord, I am not alone! I am in company, the beſt company.
Lovew. My Lord!
