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With. You are mistaken, young mistress, it is up stairs in my wig-box.

Ag. Well I am glad it is any where but upon your pate, uncle. (Turning his face towards Mariane.) Look at him, pray! is he not ten years younger since he wore it? Is there one bit of an old grumbler to be seen about him now?

Mar. He is no more like the man he was than I am like my god-mother. (Clapping his shoulder.) You must even do as we have bid you, sir, for this excuse will never bring you off.

With. Poo, poo, it is a foolish girl's whimsy: I'lI have nothing to do with it.

Ag. It is a reasonable woman's desire, gentle guardian, and you must consent to it. For if I am to marry at all, I am resolved to have a respectable man, and a man who is attached to me, and to find out such a one, in my present situation, is impossible. I am provoked beyond all patience with your old greedy lords, and match-making aunts, introducing their poor noodle heirs-apparent to me, like so many dolts dressed ourout [sic] for a race ball. Your ambitious esquires, and proud obsequious baronets are intolerable, and your rakish younger brothers are nauseous: such creatures only surround me, whilst men of sense keep at a distance, and think me as foolish as the company I keep. One would swear I were made of amber, to attract all the dust and chaff of the community.

With. There is some truth in this 'faith.

Ag. You see how it is with me; so my dear