Door meets the Butler._) How now, what do you want?

_Butl._ My Master order'd me to lay the Cloth here for his Supper.

_Isab._ Ruin'd past Redemption--
(_Aside._

_Patch._ You mistake sure; what shall we do?

_Isab._ I thought he expected Company to Night--Oh! poor _Charles_--Oh!
unfortunate _Isabinda_.

_Butl._ I thought so too Madam, but I suppose he has alter'd his Mind.
(_Lays the Cloth, and Exit._

_Isab._ The Letter is the Cause; this heedless Action has undone me: Fly
and fasten the Closet-window, which will give _Charles_ notice to
retire. Ha, my Father, oh! Confusion.

_Enter Sir _Jealous_._

Sir _Jeal._ Hold, hold, _Patch_, whither are you going. I'll have no
body stir out of the Room till after Supper.

_Patch._ Sir, I was only going to reach your easie Chair--Oh! wretched
Accident!

Sir _Jeal._ I'll have no body stir out of the Room. I don't want my
easie Chair.

_Isab._ What will be the event of this? (_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Hark ye Daughter, do you know this Hand?

_Isab._ As I suspected--Hand do you call it, Sir? 'Tis some School-boy's
Scraul.

_Patch._ Oh! Invention, thou Chamber-maid's best Friend, assist me.
(_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Are you sure you don't understand it?

(_Patch._ _Feels in her Bosom, and shakes her Coats._)

_Isab._ Do you understand it, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ I wish I did.

_Isab._ Thank Heaven you do not. (_aside_) Then I know no more of it
than you do indeed, Sir.

_Patch._ Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have you done, Sir? Why the Paper is
mine, I drop'd it out of my Bosom.
(_Snatching it from him._

Sir _Jeal._ Ha! yours, Mistress.

_Isab._ What does she mean by owning it.
(_Aside._

_Patch._ Yes, Sir, it is.

Sir _Jeal._ What is it? Speak.

_Patch._ Why, Sir, it is a Charm for the Tooth-ach--I have worn it this
seven Year, 'twas given me by an Angel for ought I know, when I was
raving with the Pain; for no body knew from whence he came, nor whither
he went, he charg'd me never to open it, lest some dire Vengeance befal
me, and Heaven knows what will be the Event. Oh! cruel Misfortune that I
should drop it, and you should open it--If you had not open'd it--

_Isab._ Excellent Wench.
(_Aside._

Sir _Jeal._ Pox of your Charms, and Whims for me, if that be all 'tis
well enough; there, there, burn it, and I warrant you no Vengeance will
follow.

_Patch._ So, all's right again thus far.
(_Aside._

_Isab._ I would not lose _Pa