vast a Fortune, and such a Passion for
you-- _Stephano_, my things--
[Puts on his Masquing Habit.

_Flor._ A Passion for me! 'tis more than e'er I saw, or had a desire
should be known-- I hate _Vincentio_, and I would not have a Man so dear
to me as my Brother follow the ill Customs of our Country, and make a
Slave of his Sister-- And Sir, my Father's Will, I'm sure, you may
divert.

_Pedro._ I know not how dear I am to you, but I wish only to be rank'd
in your Esteem, equal with the _English_ Colonel _Belvile_-- Why do you
frown and blush? Is there any Guilt belongs to the Name of that
Cavalier?

_Flor._ I'll not deny I value _Belvile_: when I was expos'd to such
Dangers as the licens'd Lust of common Soldiers threatned, when Rage and
Conquest flew thro the City-- then _Belvile_, this Criminal for my sake,
threw himself into all Dangers to save my Honour, and will you not allow
him my Esteem?

_Pedro._ Yes, pay him what you will in Honour-- but you must consider
Don _Vincentio's_ Fortune, and the Jointure he'll make you.

_Flor._ Let him consider my Youth, Beauty and Fortune; which ought not
to be thrown away on his Age and Jointure.

_Pedro._ 'Tis true, he's not so young and fine a Gentleman as that
_Belvile_-- but what Jewels will that Cavalier present you with? those
of his Eyes and Heart?

_Hell._ And are not those better than any Don _Vincentio_ has brought
from the _Indies_?

_Pedro._ Why how now! Has your Nunnery-breeding taught you to understand
the Value of Hearts and Eyes?

_Hell._ Better than to believe _Vincentio_ deserves Value from any
woman-- He may perhaps encrease her Bags, but not her Family.

_Pedro._ This is fine-- Go up to your Devotion, you are not design'd for
the Conversation of Lovers.

_Hell._ Nor Saints yet a while I hope. [Aside.] Is't not enough you make
a Nun of me, but you must cast my Sister away too, exposing her to a
worse confinement than a religious Life?

_Pedro._ The Girl's mad-- Is it a Confinement to be carry'd into the
Country, to an antient Villa belonging to the Family of the
_Vincentio's_ these five hundred Years, and have no other Prospect than
that pleasing one of seeing all her own that meets her Eyes-- a fine
Air, large Fields and Gardens, where she may walk and gather Flowers?

_Hell._ When? By Moon-Light? For I'm sure she dares not encounter with
the heat of the Sun; that were a Task only for Don _Vincentio_ and his
_Indian_ Breeding, who loves it