Fran.  Hum, so, so,—­like Fire conceal’d in a Tinderbox,—­I shall run mad.

Car.  Is she witty?

Fran.  I’m no competent Judge, an’t like your Holiness, —­This Catechism was certainly of the Devil’s own making. [Aside.

    Enter Guzman, bringing in Julia, Clara, Isabella, Jacinta,
    Guiliom, Antonio, &c. Women veil’d.

Car.  These, Sir, are all the Slaves of Note are taken.

Isa.  Dost think, Jacinta, he’ll chuse me?

Jac.  I’ll warrant you, 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.