Car. _and_ Jul.
--Old Fellow,--prithee what Person of Quality is that?

_Fran_. Person of Quality! alas, my Lord, 'tis a silly Citizen's
Daughter.

_Guil_. A Citizen's! what clod of Earth cou'd bring forth such a Beauty?

_Fran_. Alas, my Lord, I am that clod of Earth, and to Earth, if you
call it so, she must return again, for she's to be married to a Citizen
this Morning.

_Guil_. Oh! I am doubly wounded, first with her harmonious Eyes,
Who've fir'd my Heart to that Degree,
No Chimney ever burnt like me.
Fair Lady,--suffer the Broom of my Affection to sweep all other Lovers
from your heart.

_Isa_. Ah, my Lord, name it not, I'm this day to be married.

_Guil_. To day! name me the Man; Man did I say? the Monster, that dares
lay claim to her I deign to love,--none answer me,--I'll make him
smoak, by _Vulcan_--and all the rest of the Goddesses.

_Fran_. Bless me, what a furious thing this Love is?

_Guil_. By this bright Sword, that is so used to slaughter, he dies;
[_Draws_.] old Fellow, say--the Poltroon's name.

_Fran_. Oh, fearful--alas, dread Sir!

_Isa_. Ah! sheath your Sword, and calm your generous Rage.

_Guil_. I cannot brook a Rival in my Love, the rustling Pole of my
Affection is too strong to be resisted.
_Runs raging up and down the Stage with his Sword in his hand_.

_Isa_. I cannot think, my Lord, so mean a Beauty can so suddenly charm a
Heart so great as yours.

_Guil_. Oh! you're mistaken, as soon as I cast my eyes upon the
Full-moon of your Countenance, I was struck blind and dumb.

_Fran_. Ay, and deaf too, I'll be sworn, he cou'd neither hear, see nor
understand; this Love's a miraculous thing.

_Guil_. And that Minute, the most renoun'd Don _Gulielmo Roderigo de
Chimeny Sweperio_, became your Gally-Slave,--I say no more, but that I
do love,--and I will love,--and that if you are but half so willing as
I, I will dub you, Viscountess _de Chimeny Sweperio_.

_Isa_. I am in Heaven, ah! I die, _Jacinta_. How can I credit this, that
am so much unworthy?

_Guil_. I'll do't, say no more, I'll do't.

_Fran_. Do't, but, my Lord, and with what face can I put off Signior
_Antonio_, hum.

_Guil_. _Antonio_,--hy, Pages, give order that _Antonio_ be instantly
run through the Lungs--d'ye hear?

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! run through the Lungs!

_Page_. It shall be done, my Lord! but what _Antonio_?

_Guil_. Why, any _Antonio_; all the _Antonio's_ that you find in
_Cadiz_