_Alon._ No, on my Conscience she's in earnest, she told me her Name, and
his I am to represent.

_Lov._ What is't, I pray?

_Alon._ _Haunce van Ezel._

_Lov._ Hah! her Name too, I beseech you? [Impatiently.

_Alon._ _Euphemia_: And such a Creature 'tis--

_Lov._ 'Sdeath, my Sister all this while: This has call'd up all that's
Spaniard in me, and makes me raging mad.
[Aside.] But do you love her, Sir?

_Alon._ Most desperately, beyond all Sense or Reason.

_Lov._ And could you be content to marry her?

_Alon._ Any thing but that --But thou know'st my ingagement elsewhere;
and I have hopes that yet she'll be wise, and yield on more pleasant
terms.

_Lov._ I could be angry now; but 'twere unreasonable to blame him for
this. [Aside.] Sir, I believe by your Treatment from _Ambrosio_ and
_Marcel_, you may come off there easily.

_Alon._ That will not satisfy my Honour, tho 'twill my Love; that I have
not _Hippolyta_, I will owe to my own Inconstancy, not theirs: besides,
this may be a Cheat, as you say.

_Lov._ But does _Euphemia_ love you?

_Alon._ Faith, I think she has too much Wit to dissemble, and too much
Beauty to need that Art.

_Lov._ Then you must marry her.

_Alon._ Not if I can avoid it.

_Lov._ I know this Lady, Sir, and know her to be worth your Love: I have
it in my Power too, to serve you, if you proceed suddenly, which you
must do, or lose her; for this _Flandrian_ Boor your Rival is already
arriv'd, and designs to morrow to make his first Address to _Euphemia_.

_Alon._ Oh, he must not, shall not see her.

_Lov._ How will you hinder him?

_Alon._ With this. [To his Sword.] Where is this Rival? tell me:
Conduct me to him strait; I find my Love above the common rate, and
cannot brook this Rival.

_Lov._ So, this blows the flame-- His Life will be no hindrance to you
in this Affair, if you design to love on.

_Alon._ Do'st know him?

_Lov._ Yes, he is a pleasant Original for you to be copy'd by: It is the
same Fop, I told you was to marry my Sister, and who came along with me
to _Madrid_.

_Alon._ How! _Euphemia_ thy Sister?

_Lov._ Yes, indeed is she, and whom my Father designs to cast away upon
this half Man, half Fool; but I find she has Wit to make a better
Choice: she yet knows nothing of my Arrival, and till you resolve what
to do, shall not; and my _Dutchman_ does nothing without me.

_Alon._ If thou hast the management of him, he's likely to thrive.

_Lov._