Enter Clara.

Jul.  Hah, my Sister, whom yet my jealous heart can scarce be reconciled to; so deeply was my fear of Rivalship fixt there, —­so sad, my Sister, and so near the happy day with Carlos?

Cla.  ’Tis pity she that thinks it so shou’d want him; the Blessing’s thrown away on me, but we are both unhappy to be match’d to those we cannot love. Carlos, though young, gay, handsom, witty, rich, I hate as much as you the old Francisco; for since I cannot marry my Antonio, both Youth and Beauty are but lost on me, and Age decrepid would be equal torment.

Jul.  Wou’d Carlos knew your heart, sure he’d decline; for he has too much Honor to compel a Maid to yield that loves him not.

Cla.  ’Tis true, he is above me every way, and the Honor my Father thinks to do our Family by this Match, makes him resolve upon’t; but I have given my Vows to young Antonio.

Jul.  And young Antonio you are like to have, for any thing that Carlos cares; for know, to thy eternal joy, my Clara, he has but feigned to thee, as much as thy Antonio to Isabella.

Cla.  But are you sure of this?

Jul.  Most certain; this Night if you can let Antonio see you, he’ll tell you all the Cheat, and beg your Pardon.

Cla.  Which he will soon obtain, and in return, what Service I can render him in your behalf he shall not want.

Jul. Antonio will engage you they are Friends.

Cla.  You amaze me.

Jac.  I have appointed him this night to wait, and, if possible, I would get him a Minute’s time with you.

Cla.  Dear Jacinta, thou art the kindest Maid.—­

Jac.  Hang’t, why should we young Women pine and languish for what our own natural Invention may procure us; let us three lay our Heads together, and if Machiavel with all his Politicks can out-wit us, ’tis pity but we all lead Apes in Hell, and die without the Jewish Blessing of Consolation.

Jul.  No more, here comes the Dragon.

Enter Francisco.

Fran.  So, together consulting and contriving.

Jac.  What, are you jealous of the Petticoat?

Fran.  Petticoat!  Come, come, Mistress Pert, I have known as much danger hid under a Petticoat, as a pair of Breeches.  I have heard of two Women that married each other—­oh abominable, as if there were so prodigious a scarcity of Christian Mans Flesh.

Jac.  No, the Market’s well enough stored, thanks be praised, might every Woman be afforded a reasonable Allowance.

Fran.  Peace, I say, thou Imp of Lucifer; wou’d thou hadst thy Bellyful, that I might be fairly rid of thee—­go get you up to your Chamber, and, d’ye hear, stir not from thence, on pain of our severe displeasure, for I am sent for in all haste, to Signior Don Sebastian’s, ’tis but hard by, I shall soon return;—­what, are you here?