p him for the _Opera._
(_Exit._

_Marpl._ A Duce of his Cane, there's no trusting to Age--what shall I do
to Relieve _Charles!_ Egad, I'll raise the Neighbourhood--Murder,
Murder-- (__Charles_ drops down upon him from the Balcone._) _Charles_
faith I'm glad to see thee safe out, with all my Heart.

_Char._ A Pox of your Bawling: How the Devil came you here?

_Marpl._ Here, gad I have done you a piece of Service; I told the old
Thunderbolt, that the Gentleman that was gone in was--

_Char._ Was it you that told him, Sir? (_Laying hold of him._) Z'death,
I cou'd crush thee into Atoms.
(_Exit _Charles_._

_Marpl._ What will you choak me for my Kindness?--will my Enquiring Soul
never leave Searching into other Peoples Affairs, till it gets squeez'd
out of my Body? I dare not follow him now, for my Blood, he's in such a
Passion--I'll to _Miranda_; if I can discover ought that may oblige Sir
_George_, it may be a means to Reconcile me agen to _Charles_.
(_Exit._

_Enter Sir _Jealous_ and _Servants_._

Sir _Jeal._ Are you sure you have search'd every where?

_Serv._ Yes, from the Top of the House to the Bottom.

Sir _Jeal._ Under the Beds, and over the Beds?

_Serv._ Yes, and in them too, but found no Body, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ Why, what cou'd this Rogue mean?

_Enter _Isabinda_ and _Patch_._

_Patch._ Take Courage, Madam, I saw him safe out. (_Aside to _Isab_._

_Isab._ Bless me! what's the matter, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ You know best--Pray where's the Man that was here just now?

_Isab._ What Man, Sir? I saw none!

_Patch._ Nor I, by the Trust you repose in me; do you think I wou'd let
a Man come within these Doors, when you were absent?

Sir _Jeal._ Ah _Patch_, she may be too cunning for thy Honesty; the very
Scout that he had set to give Warning discover'd it to me--and
threaten'd me with half a Dozen _Mirmidons_--But I think I maul'd the
Villain. These Afflictions you draw upon me, Mistress!

_Isab._ Pardon me, Sir, 'tis your own Ridiculous Humour draws you into
these Vexations, and gives every Fool pretence to banter you.

Sir _Jeal._ No, 'tis your Idle Conduct, your Coquetish Flurting into the
Balcone--Oh with what Joy shall I resign thee into the Arms of Don
_Diego Babinetto!_

_Isab._ And with what Industry shall I avoid him!
(_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Certainly that Rogue had a Message from some body or other;
but being baulk'd by my coming, popt that Sham upon me. Come along, ye