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u, Madam, if he looks with my Eyes. _Guz_. Stand forth. [_To the Men_. _Guil_. Stand forth, Sir! why, so I can, Sir, I dare show my Face, Sir, before any Great _Turk_ in Christendom. _Car_. What are you, Sir? _Guil_. What am I, Sir? Why, I'm a Lord, a Lord. _Fran_. What, are you mad to own your Quality, he'll ask the Devil and all of a ransom. _Guil_. No matter for that, I'll not lose an Inch of my Quality for a King's ransom; disgrace my self before my fair Mistress! _Isa_. That's as the _Great Turk_ and I shall agree. [_Scornfully_. _Car_. What are you, Sir? _Ant_. A Citizen of _Cadiz_. _Car_. Set 'em by, we'll consider of their ransoms--now unveil the Ladies. [Guzman _unveils_ Jacinta. _Fran_. Oh, dear Wife, now or never show thy Love, make a damnable face upon the filthy Ravisher,--glout thy Eyes thus--and thrust out thy upper lip, thus.-- [Guzman _presents_ Jacinta. _Guil_. Oh, dear _Isabella_, do thee look like a Dog too. _Isa_. No, Sir, I'm resolv'd I'll not lose an Inch of my Beauty, to save so trifling a thing as a Maiden head. _Car_. Very agreeable, pretty and chearful-- [_She is veil'd and set by: Then Clara is unveil'd_. A most divine bud of Beauty--all Nature's Excellence--drawn to the life in little,--what are you, fair one? _Cla_. Sir, I'm a Maid. _Fran_. So, I hope he will pitch upon her. _Cla_. Only, by promise, Sir, I've given my self away. _Car_. What happy Man cou'd claim a title in thee, And trust thee to such danger? _Isa_. Heavens, shall I be defeated by this little Creature? What pity 'twas he saw me not first? _Cla_. I dare not name him, Sir, lest this small Beauty which you say adorns me, shou'd gain him your displeasure; he's in your presence, Sir, and is your Slave. _Car_. Such Innocence this plain Confession shows, name me the man, and I'll resign thee back to him. _Fran_. A Pox of his Civility. _Ant_. This Mercy makes me bold to claim my right. [_Kneels_. _Car_. Take her, young Man, and with it both your Ransoms. _Guil_. Hum--hum--very noble, i'faith, we'll e'en confess our loves too, _Isabella_. _Isa_. S'life, he'll spoil all,--hold--pray let your Betters be serv'd before you. _Guil_. How! Is the Honour of my Love despised?--wer't not i'th presence of the Great _Turk_, for whom I have a reverence because he's a man of quality--by _Jove_, I'd draw upon you. _Isa_. Because
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