_Jeal._ I pray do, Mr. _Meanwell_, I pray do; she'll break my Heart.
(_weeps_) There is in that, Jewels of the Value of 3000 _l._ which were
her Mother's; and a Paper wherein I have settled one half of my Estate
upon her now, and the whole when I dye. But provided she marries this
Gentleman, else by St. _Jago_, I'll turn her out of Doors to beg or
starve. Tell her this, Mr. _Meanwell_, pray do.
(_Walks off._

Sir _Geo._ Ha! this is beyond Expectation--Trust to me, Sir, I'll lay
the dangerous Consequence of disobeying you at this Juncture before her,
I warrant you.

_Char._ A sudden Joy runs thro' my Heart like a propitious Omen.
(_Aside._

Sir _Geo._ Come, Madam, do not blindly cast your Life away just in the
Moment you would wish to have it.

_Isab._ Pray cease your Trouble, Sir, I have no Wish but sudden Death to
free me from this hated _Spaniard_. If you are his Friend inform him
what I say; my Heart is given to another Youth, whom I love with the
same strength of Passion that I hate this _Diego_; with whom, if I am
forc'd to wed, my own Hand shall cut the Gordian Knot.

Sir _Geo._ Suppose this _Spaniard_ which you strive to shun should be
the very Man to whom you'd flye?

_Isab._ Ha!

Sir _Geo._ Would you not blame your rash Result, and curse those Eyes
that would not look on _Charles_.

_Isab._ On _Charles!_ Oh you have inspir'd new Life, and collected every
wandring Sense. Where is he? Oh! let me flye into his Arms.
(_Rises._

Sir _Geo._ Hold, hold, hold, 'Zdeath, Madam, you'll ruin all, your
Father believes him to be _Seignor Barbinetto_. Compose your self a
little, pray Madam.
(_He runs to Sir _Jealous_._

_Char._ Her Eyes declare she knows me.
(_Aside._

Sir _Geo._ She begins to hear Reason, Sir, the fear of being turn'd out
of Doors has done it.
(_Runs back to_ Isabinda.

_Isab._ 'Tis he, oh! my ravish'd Soul.

Sir _Geo._ Take heed, Madam, you don't betray your self. Seem with
Reluctance to consent, or you are undone, (_runs to Sir _Jealous_._)
speak gently to her, Sir, I'm sure she'll yield, I see it in her Face.

Sir _Jeal._ Well, _Isabinda_, can you refuse to bless a Father, whose
only Care is to make you happy, as Mr. _Meanwell_ has inform'd you.
Come, wipe thy Eyes; nay, prithee do, or thou wilt break thy Father's
Heart; see thou bring'st the Tears in mine to think of thy undutiful
Carriage to me.
(_Weeps._

_Isab._ Oh! do not weep, Sir, your Tears are l