Jac. He has seen Don Carlos, and they have been in great discourse together, I cou’d not hear one word, but you’ll have it at both ears anon, I’ll warrant you. Ha, he’s coming.

Enter Francisco.

Cla. Heavens, he must not see you here. [To Ant.

Jac. Here, step into Clara’s Bed-chamber. [He goes in.

Fran. So the Plot’s at last discover’d,—he was a Cavalier of his Parole.

Jul. Who speak you of?

Fran. Only the Governor, the fine young Governor, I deliver’d him the message, told him my mind and the like.

Jul. So kind to visit us, and have you sent him away already?

Fran. Ah, Witch; already! why, have I any lodging for him?

Jul. But I am glad you brought him not in, I being so unready.

Fran. But you are always ready for him, my dear victorious Man-slayer.

Jul. What means he, sure he has a Gad-bee in his Brain.

Fran. Satan’s she Advocate—peace, I say;—so, you look as innocently now, as a little Devil of two years old, I’ll warrant;—come, come, look me full in the face—thus,—turn your nose just to mine—so—now tell me whose damnable Plot this was, to send your Gallant with his Eloquence, Querks and Conundrums, to tutor me into better manners?

Jul. Send him! I’ll answer no such idle questions.

Fran. He has taken a world of pains about your particular Chapter, and no doubt but he preach’d according to instructions;—what say you for your self, that Judgment may not pass?

Jul. I say you’re an old jealous Fool; have I seen Don Carlos, or heard from Don Carlos, or sent to Don Carlos? here’s a-do indeed.

Fran. What made you at the door against my positive commands,—the very Street-door,—in the night,—alone,—and undrest,—this is a matter of Fact, Gentlewoman; you hastened me away,—a plain case,—and presently, after Don Carlos comes to the door,—positive proof,—sees me and falls right down upon my Jealousy,—clear conviction,—’twas pity but I had follow’d his counsel, yes, when the Devil turns student in Divinity;—but no matter, I’ll see your back fairly turn’d upon this Town to morrow; I’ll marry my Daughter in the morning to Antonio, and a fair wind or not, we’ll home; the Gally lies ready in the Harbour— therefore prepare, pack up your tools, for you are no woman of this world.

Ant. How! marry me to morrow to his daughter;—and carry his Wife from my Friend; this misfortune must be prevented. [Aside peeping.

Fran. And so, Mistress, come your ways to your Chamber.

Jul. And study how to prevent this cruel separation. [Aside, goes out with him and Jacinta.

Cla. Ah, Antonio, I find by that sad look of yours, you have over-heard our hasty Doom.

Ant. I have, and am a little surpriz’d at the suddenness of it; and I my self am the unlucky occasion of it,—to break it off, I told my Father how scurvily Isabella treated me,—he thereupon sends for old Francisco, tells him of my complaint, and instead of disengaging my self, I find my self more undone.

Cla. What shall we do? I’m sure thou wilt not marry her, thou canst not do’t and hope to go to Heaven.

Ant. No, I have one prevention left, and if that fail, I’ll utterly refuse to marry her, a thing so vainly proud; no Laws of Nature or Religion, sure, can bind me to say yes; and for my Fortune, ‘tis my own, no Father can command it.

Cla. I know thou wilt be true, and I’ll not doubt it.

Enter Jacinta.

Jac. Ah! Madam, the saddest news—

Cla. Hah! what?

Jac. Poor Gentleman, I pity you of all things in the World,—you must be forc’d—how can I utter it,—to the most lamentable torment that ever Lover endur’d—to remain all night in your Mistress’s Chamber.

Ant. Alas, how shall I endure so great an Affliction?

Cla. And I.

Jac. Ha, ha, ha, how I am griev’d to think on it; ha, ha, ha, that you shou’d both be so hardly put to it; ha, ha, ha, for the old Gentleman has lock’d all the doors, and took the keys to bed to him,—go, get you in,—ha, ha, ha.—

Ant. Oh, my dear Clara, this is a blessing I could not hope.

Cla. So large a Freedom shall my Virtue prove, I’ll trust my Honour with Antonio’s Love.

[They go in.

[Ex. Jacinta laughing.