Sir Jeal. What in the Balcone agen, notwithstanding my positive Commands to the contrary!—­Why don’t you write a Bill upon your Forehead, to show Passengers there’s something to be Let—­

Isab. What harm can there be in a little fresh Air, Sir?

Sir Jeal. Is your Constitution so hot, Mistriss, that it wants cooling, ha?  Apply the Virtuous Spanish Rules, banish your Tast, and Thoughts of Flesh, feed upon Roots, and quench your Thirst with Water.

Isab. That, and a close Room, wou’d certainly make me die of the Vapours.

Sir Jeal. No, Mistriss, ’tis your High-fed, Lusty, Rambling, Rampant Ladies—­that are troubl’d with the Vapours; ’tis your Ratifia, Persico, Cynamon, Citron, and Spirit of Clary, cause such Swi—­m—­ing in the Brain, that carries many a Guinea full-tide to the Doctor.  But you are not to be Bred this way; No Galloping abroad, no receiving Visits at home; for in our loose Country, the Women are as dangerous as the Men.

Patch. So I told her, Sir; and that it was not Decent to be seen in a Balcone—­But she threaten’d to slap my Chaps, and told me, I was her Servant, not her Governess.

Sir Jeal. Did she so?  But I’ll make her to know, that you are her Duenna:  Oh that incomparable Custom of Spain! why here’s no depending upon old Women in my Country—­for they are as Wanton at Eighty, as a Girl of Eighteen; and a Man may as safely trust to Asgill’s Translation, as to his great Grand-Mother’s not marrying agen.

Isab. Or to the Spanish Ladies Veils, and Duenna’s, for the Safeguard of their Honour.

Sir Jeal. Dare to Ridicule the Cautious Conduct of that wise Nation, and I’ll have you Lock’d up this Fortnight, without a Peephole.

Isab. If we had but the Ghostly Helps in England, which they have in Spain, I might deceive you if you did,—­Sir, ’tis not the Restraint, but the Innate Principles, secures the Reputation and Honour of our Sex—­Let me tell you, Sir, Confinement sharpens the Invention, as want of Sight strengthens the other Senses, and is often more Pernicious than the Recreation innocent Liberty allows.

Sir Jeal. Say you so, Mistress, who the Devil taught you the Art of Reasoning?  I assure you, they must have a greater Faith than I pretend to, that can think any Woman innocent who requires Liberty.  Therefore, Patch, to your Charge I give her; Lock her up till I come back from Change:  I shall have some sauntring Coxcomb, with nothing but a Red Coat and a Feather, think, by Leaping into her Arms, to Leap into my Estate—­But I’ll prevent them, she shall be only Signeur Babinetto’s.

Patch. Really, Sir, I wish you wou’d employ any Body else in this Affair; I lead a Life like a Dog with obeying your Commands.  Come, Madam, will you please to be Lock’d up.