SIR SAMPSON, ANGELICA, FORESIGHT, MRS FORESIGHT, BEN, BUCKRAM.
MRS FORE. This is so surprising.
SIR SAMP. How! What does my aunt say? Surprising, aunt? Not at all for a young couple to make a match in winter: not at all. It's a plot to undermine cold weather, and destroy that usurper of a bed called a warming-pan.
MRS FORE. I'm glad to hear you have so much fire in you, Sir Sampson.
BEN. Mess, I fear his fire's little better than tinder; mayhap it will only serve to light up a match for somebody else. The young woman's a handsome young woman, I can't deny it: but, father, if I might be your pilot in this case, you should not marry her. It's just the same thing as if so be you should sail so far as the Straits without provision.
SIR SAMP. Who gave you authority to speak, sirrah? To your element, fish, be mute, fish, and to sea, rule your helm, sirrah, don't direct me.
BEN. Well, well, take you care of your own helm, or you mayn't keep your new vessel steady.
SIR SAMP. Why, you impudent tarpaulin! Sirrah, do you bring your forecastle jests upon your father? But I shall be even with you, I won't give you a groat. Mr Buckram, is the conveyance so worded that nothing can possibly descend to this scoundrel? I would not so much as have him have the prospect of an estate, though there were no way to come to it, but by the North-East Passage.
BUCK. Sir, it is drawn according to your directions; there is not the least cranny of the law unstopt.
BEN. Lawyer, I believe there's many a cranny and leak unstopt in your conscience. If so be that one had a pump to your bosom, I believe we should discover a foul hold. They say a witch will sail in a sieve: but I believe the devil would not venture aboard o' your conscience. And that's for you.
SIR SAMP. Hold your tongue, sirrah. How now, who's here?
