ese necessary delays of ours
Have drawn my Love to an impatient height.
--Attend these Captives, at a respectful distance.

[_Ex. all but _Isa_. who stays_ Guil.

_Guil_. What wou'd the Great _Sultana_?

_Isa_. Ah! do not pierce my Heart with this unkindness.

_Guil_. Ha, ha, ha,--Pages,--give order, I have Letters writ to _Sevil_,
to my Merchant,--I will be ransomed instantly.

_Isa_. Ah, cruel Count!

_Guil_. Meaning me, Lady! ah, fy! no, I am a Scoundrel; I a Count, no,
not I, a Dog, a very Chim--hum,--a Son of a Whore, I, not worthy
your notice.

_Isa_. Oh, Heavens! must I lose you then? no, I'll die first.

_Guil_. Die, die, then; for your Betters must be served before you.

_Isa_. Oh! I shall rave; false and lovely as you are, did you not swear
to marry me, and make me a Viscountess.

_Guil_. Ay, that was once when I was a Lover; but, now you are a Queen,
you're too high i'th' mouth for me.

_Isa_. Ah! name it not; will you be still hard-hearted?

_Guil_. As a Flint, by _Jove_.

_Isa_. Have you forgot your Love?

_Guil_. I've a bad memory.

_Isa_. And will you let me die?

_Guil_. I know nothing of the matter.

_Isa_. Oh Heavens! and shall I be no Viscountess?

_Guil_. Not for me, fair Lady, by _Jupiter_,--no, no,--Queen's much
better,--Death, affront a man of Honour, a Viscount that wou'd have took
you to his Bed,--after half the Town had blown upon you,--without
examining either Portion or Honesty, and wou'd have took you for better
for worse--Death, I'll untile Houses, and demolish Chimneys, but I'll be
revenged.
[_Draws and is going out_.

_Isa_. Ah, hold! your Anger's just, I must confess: yet pardon the
frailty of my Sex's vanity; behold my Tears that sue for pity to you.

[_She weeps, he stands looking on her_.

_Guil_. My rage dissolves.

_Isa_. I ask but Death, or Pity. [_He weeps_.

_Guil_. I cannot hold;--but if I shou'd forgive, and marry you,
you wou'd be gadding after honour still, longing to be a she Great
_Turk_ again.

_Isa_. Break not my heart with such suspicions of me.

_Gull_. And is it pure and tender Love for my Person,
And not for my glorious Titles?

_Isa_. Name not your Titles, 'tis your self I love,
Your amiable, sweet and charming self,
And I cou'd almost wish you were not great,
To let you see my Love.

_Guil_. I am confirm'd--

_'Tis no respect of Honour makes her