Ant.  I must confess I am not perfum’d as you are, to stifle Stinks you commonly have by Nature; but I have wholesom, cleanly Linen on; and for my Habit wore I but a Sword, I see no difference between your Don and me, only, perhaps, he knows less how to use it.

Isa.  Ah, name not a Don, the very sound from the Mouth of a little Cit is disagreeable—­Bargain and Sale, Bills, Money, Traffick, Trade, are words become you better.

Jac.  Well said, use him scurvily that Mrs. Clara may have him.
          
                                                   [Aside.

Ant.  The best of those you think I should not name, dare hardly tell me this.

Isa.  Good Lord, you think your self a very fine Fellow now, and finical your self up to be thought so; but there’s as much difference between a Citizen and a true bred Cavalier—­

Ant.  As between you and a true bred Woman of Honour.

Isa.  Oh, Sir, you rail, and you may long enough, before you rail me out of my Opinion, whilst there are Dons with Coaches and fine Lackeys, and I have Youth and Beauty, with a Fortune able to merit one, so farewel, Cit.
                 [Ex.

Ant.  Farewel, proud Fool.

Jac.  Sir, be this Evening at the Door, Donna Clara has something to say to you.

Ant.  Bless thee for this Tidings, dear Jacinta.

[Ex.  Jacinta.

  —­I find let Man be brave, or good, or wise,
  His Virtue gains no Smiles from Woman’s Eyes;
  ’Tis the gay Fool alone that takes the Heart,
  Foppery and Finery still guide the Dart.

[Ex.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Chamber.

    Enter Jacinta with a Light, and Julia.

Jac.  Well, Madam, have you writ to Don Carlos?

Jul.  No, nor is it possible I shou’d, this Devil haunts me so from room to room, like my evil Genius to prevent that Good; oh, for an opportunity of one kind Minute to return Acknowledgments for this kind Letter he has sent me.

Jac.  I’m glad you find me a Sybil:  Madam, I ever prophesy’d a happier end of that Amour than your ill Fortune has hitherto promised,—­but what said the lovely Cavalier?

Jul.  All that a Man inspir’d with Love cou’d say, all that was soft and charming.

Jac.  Nay, I believe his Art.

Jul.  Judge then what my Heart feels, which like a Fire but lightly cover’d o’er with the cold Ashes of Despair, with the least blast breaks out into a Flame; I burn, I burn, Jacinta, and only charming Carlos can allay my Pain—­but how?  Ay, there’s the question.

Jac.  Some way I will contrive to speak with him, for he has lost his old wont if he traverse not the Street where you live:  but see Donna Clara.—­