ng.

_Fran_. Something? what thing? have I not provided you a Husband whom
you are to marry within a day or two.

_Isa_. There's a Husband indeed, pray keep him to your self, if you
please; I'll marry none of him, I'll see him hanged first.

_Fran_. Hey day;--what, is he not young and handsome enough, forsooth?

_Isa_. Young and handsome; is there no more than that goes to the making
up of a Husband--Yes, there's Quality.

_Fran_. Quality!--Why, is he not one of the richest Merchants of his
standing in all _Cadiz_.

_Isa_. Merchant! a pretty Character! a Woman of my Beauty, and five
Thousand Pound, marry a Merchant--a little, petty, dirty-heel'd
Merchant; faugh, I'd rather live a Maid all the days of my life, or be
sent to a Nunnery, and that's Plague enough I'm sure.

_Jac_. Have a care of a Nunnery, lest he take you at your word.

_Isa_. I would not for the world; no, _Jacinta_, when ever thou seest me
in holy Orders, the World will be at an end.

_Fran_. Merchant! why, what Husband do you expect?

_Isa_. A Cavalier at least, if not a Nobleman.

_Fran_. A Nobleman, marry come up, your Father, Huswife, meaning my
self, was a Leather-seller at first, till, growing rich, I set up for a
Merchant, and left that mechanick Trade; and since turned Gentleman; and
Heav'n blest my Endeavours so as I have an Estate for a _Spanish_
Grandee; and, are you so proud, forsooth, that a Merchant won't down
with you, but you must be gaping after a Cap and Feather, a Silver Sword
with a more dreadful Ribbon at the hilt?--Come, come, I fear me,
Huswise, you are one that puff's her up with Pride thus;--but lay thy
hand upon thy Conscience now.-- [_To Jacinta_.

_Jac_. Who, I, Sir? No, no, I am for marrying her out of hand to any
reasonable Husband, except a Merchant; for Maids will long, and that's
_Probatum est_ against the prevailing distemper of Longing. Hitherto I
dare answer for her, but Batteries will be made, and I dare not be
always responsible for frail Mortality.

_Fran_. Well, I have provided her one that I like, but if she be so
squeamish, let her fast, with a Murrain to her.

_Isa_. Dear Father.

_Fran_. Dear me no Dears: wou'd your old Mother were alive, she wou'd
have strapt your Just-au-corps, for puleing after Cavaliers and
Nobleman, i'faith, that wou'd she; a Citizen's Daughter, and would be a
_Madona_--in good time.

_Isa. Why, Father, the Gentry and Nobility now-a-days frequently marry
Citizens Daug