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