tch_ for the World--I'll take courage a
little. (_aside_) Is this Usage for your Daughter, Sir, must my Virtue
and Conduct be suspected? For every Trifle, you immure me like some dire
Offender here, and deny me all Recreations which my Sex enjoy, and the
Custom of the Country and Modesty allow; yet not content with that you
make my Confinement more intolerable by your Mistrusts and Jealousies;
wou'd I were dead, so I were free from this.
(_Weeps._

Sir _Jeal._ To morrow rids you of this tiresome Load,--_Don Diego
Babinetto_ will be here, and then my Care ends and his begins.

_Isab._ Is he come then! Oh how shall I avoid this hated Marriage?
(_Aside._

_Enter Servants with Supper._

Sir _Jeal._ Come will you sit down?

_Isab._ I can't eat, Sir.

_Patch._ No, I dare swear he has given her Supper enough. I wish I cou'd
get into the Closet--
(_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Well, if you can't eat, then give me a Song whilst I do.

_Isab._ I have such a Cold I can scarce speak, Sir, much less sing. How
shall I prevent _Charles_ coming in.
(_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ I hope you have the Use of your Fingers, Madam. Play a Tune
upon your _Spinnet_, whilst your Woman sings me a Song.

_Patch._ I'm as much out of Tune as my Lady, if he knew all.
(_Aside._

_Isab._ I shall make excellent Musick. (_Sits down to play._

_Patch._ Really, Sir, I'm so frighted about your opening this Charm,
that I can't remember one Song.

Sir _Jeal._ Pish, hang your Charm; come, come, sing any thing.

_Patch._ Yes, I'm likely to sing truly (_aside_) humph, humph, bless me,
Sir, I cannot raise my Voice, my Heart pants so.

Sir _Jeal._ Why, what does your Heart pant so that you can't play
neither? Pray what Key are you in, ha?

_Patch._ Ah, wou'd the Key was turn'd of you once.
(_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Why don't you sing, I say!

_Patch._ When Madam has put her _Spinnet_ in Tune, Sir, humph, humph.--

_Isab._ I cannot play, Sir, whatever ails me.
(_Rising._

Sir _Jeal._ Zounds sit down, and play me a Tune, or I'll break the
_Spinnet_ about your Ears.

_Isab._ What will become of me?
(_Sits down and plays._

Sir _Jeal._ Come, Mistress.
(_To_ Patch

_Patch._ Yes, Sir.
(_Sings, but horribly out of Tune._

Sir _Jeal._ Hey, hey, why you are a top of the House, and you are down
in the Cellar. What is the meaning of this? Is it on purpose to cross
me, ha?

_Patch._ Pray Madam, take it a little lo