Fran.  Why so then, is the Devil in an unmerciful Woman?  Come, come, ’tis a good Tenant that pays once a quarter.

Jac.  Of an hour do you mean, Sir?—­

Fran.  Peace, I say—­thou damnable Tormentor, this is the Doctrine you preach to your Mistress, but you shall do’t it private, for I’m resolv’d to lock ye both up, and carry the Keys in my Pocket.

Jul.  Well, I am a wicked Creature to teaze thee so, Dear; but I’ll do what thou wilt; come, come, be friends, I vow, I care not for the Governor, not I, no more than I do for my—­own Soul.

Fran.  Why so, this is something; Come, come your ways in,—­who have we here? a Man! ad’s my life, away, away.

Jul.  Yes, up to my Chamber, to write an answer to this dear Letter.
          
                                                  [Ex Julia.

    Enter Isabella.

Fran.  No, ’tis not a Man, but my Daughter Isabella.

Jac.  Now will I stay, and set her on to teaze the Dotard:  wou’d I could teaze him to Death, that my Mistress might be rid of him.

Fran.  How now, what makes you look so scurvily to day?  Sure the Devil rides once a day through a Woman, that she may be sure to be inspired with some ill Qualities—­what wou’d you have now?

Isa.  Something.

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.