Sir Jeal. Well, if you can’t eat, then give me a Song whilst I do.

Isab. I have such a Cold I can scarce speak, Sir, much less sing.  How shall I prevent Charles coming in.
    (Aside.

Sir Jeal. I hope you have the Use of your Fingers, Madam.  Play a Tune upon your Spinnet, whilst your Woman sings me a Song.

Patch. I’m as much out of Tune as my Lady, if he knew all.
    (Aside.

Isab. I shall make excellent Musick. (Sits down to play.

Patch. Really, Sir, I’m so frighted about your opening this Charm, that I can’t remember one Song.

Sir Jeal. Pish, hang your Charm; come, come, sing any thing.

Patch. Yes, I’m likely to sing truly (aside) humph, humph, bless me, Sir, I cannot raise my Voice, my Heart pants so.

Sir Jeal. Why, what does your Heart pant so that you can’t play neither?  Pray what Key are you in, ha?

Patch. Ah, wou’d the Key was turn’d of you once.
    (Aside.

Sir Jeal. Why don’t you sing, I say!

Patch. When Madam has put her Spinnet in Tune, Sir, humph, humph.—­

Isab. I cannot play, Sir, whatever ails me.
    (Rising.

Sir Jeal. Zounds sit down, and play me a Tune, or I’ll break the Spinnet about your Ears.

Isab. What will become of me?
    (Sits down and plays.

Sir Jeal. Come, Mistress.
    (To Patch

Patch. Yes, Sir.
    (Sings, but horribly out of Tune.

Sir Jeal. Hey, hey, why you are a top of the House, and you are down in the Cellar.  What is the meaning of this?  Is it on purpose to cross me, ha?

Patch. Pray Madam, take it a little lower, I cannot reach that Note—­nor any Note I fear.

Isab. Well, begin—­Oh! Patch we shall be discover’d.

Patch. I sink with the Apprehension, Madam,—­humph, humph—­ (Sings)

    (__Charles_ pulls open the Closet Door._

Char. Musick and Singing
  ’Tis thus the bright Coelestial Court above,
  Beguiles the Hours with Musick and with Love.
Death! her Father there, (The Women shriek) then I must fly—­
    (Exit into the Closet)

    (Sir Jealous_ rises up hastily, seeing Charles slip back into
    the Closet._

Sir Jeal. Hell and Furies, a Man in the Closet—­

Patch. Ah! a Ghost, a Ghost—­he must not enter the Closet—­
    (Isabinda throws her self down before the Closet-door as in
    a Sound.

Sir Jeal. The Devil!  I’ll make a Ghost of him I warrant you.
    (Strives to get by.

Patch. Oh hold, Sir, have a care, you’l tread upon my Lady—­ who waits there?  Bring some Water:  Oh! this comes of your opening the Charm:  Oh, oh, oh, oh.
    (Weeps aloud.