Sir _Jeal._ What is your earnest Business, Blockhead, that you must speak with me before the Ceremony's past? Ha! who's this?

_Serv._ Why this Gentleman, Sir, wants another Gentleman in _Spanish_ Habit, he says.

Sir _Jeal._ In _Spanish_ Habit! 'tis some Friend of Seignior _Don Diego_'s, I warrant. Sir, I suppose you wou'd speak with Seignior _Barbinetto_--

_Marpl._ Hy-day! what the Devil does he say now!--Sir, I don't understand you.

Sir _Jeal._ Don't you understand _Spanish_, Sir?

_Marpl._ Not I indeed, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ I thought you had known Seignior _Barbinetto_.

_Marpl._ Not I, upon my word, Sir.

Sir _Jeal._ What then you'd speak with his Friend, the _English_ Merchant, Mr. _Meanwell_.

_Marpl._ Neither, Sir; not I.

Sir _Jeal._ Why who are you then, Sir? and what do you want?

(_In an angry Tone._

_Marpl._ Nay, nothing at all, not I, Sir. Pox on him! I wish I were out, he begins to exalt his Voice, I shall be beaten agen.

Sir _Jeal._ Nothing at all, Sir! Why then what Business have you in my House? ha?

_Serv._ You said you wanted a Gentleman in _Spanish_ Habit.

_Marpl._ Why ay, but his Name is neither _Barbinetto_ nor _Meanwell_.

Sir _Jeal._ What is his Name then, Sirrah, ha? Now I look at you agen, I believe you are the Rogue threaten'd me with half a Dozen _Mirmidons_--Speak, Sir, who is it you look for? or, or--

_Marpl._ A terrible old Dog!--Why, Sir, only an honest young Fellow of my Acquaintance--I thought that here might be a Ball, and that he might have been here in a Masquerade; 'tis _Charles_, Sir _Francis Gripe_'s Son, because I know he us'd to come hither sometimes.

Sir _Jeal._ Did he so?--Not that I know of, I'm sure. Pray Heaven that this be Don _Diego_--If I shou'd be trick'd now--Ha! my Heart misgives me plaguily--within there! stop the Marriage--Run, Sirrah, call all my Servants! I'll be satisfy'd that this is Seignior _Pedro_'s Son e're he has my Daughter.

_Marpl._ Ha, Sir _George_, what have I done now ?

_Enter Sir _George_ with a drawn Sword between the Scenes._

Sir _Geo._ Ha! _Marplot_, here--Oh the unlucky Dog--what's the matter, Sir _Jealous?_

Sir _Jeal._ Nay, I don't know the matter, Mr._Meanwell_.

_Marpl._ Upon my Soul, Sir _George_-- (_Going up to Sir _Geo.__

Sir _Jeal._ Nay then, I'm betray'd, ruin'd, undone: Thieves, Traytors, Rogues! (_Offers to go in._) Stop the Marriage, I say--

Sir _Geo._ I say, go on Mr._Tack.u.m_--Nay, no Ent'ring here, I guard this Pa.s.sage, old Gentleman; the Act and Deed were both your own, and I'll see 'em sign'd, or die for't.

_Enter Servants._

Sir _Jeal._ A pox on the Act and Deed!--Fall on, knock him down.

Sir _Geo._ Ay, come on, Scoundrils! I'll p.r.i.c.k your Jackets for you.

Sir _Jeal._ Z'ounds, Sirrah, I'll be Reveng'd on you.

(_Beats _Marplot_._

Sir _Geo._ Ay, there your Vengeance is due; Ha, ha.

_Marpl._ Why, what do you beat me for? I ha'nt marry'd your Daughter.

Sir _Jeal._ Rascals! why don't you knock him down?

_Serv._ We are afraid of his Sword, Sir; if you'll take that from him, we'll knock him down presently.

_Enter _Charles_ and _Isabinda_._

Sir _Jeal._ Seize her then.

_Char._ Rascals, retire; she's my Wife, touch her if you dare, I'll make Dogs meat of you.

Sir _Jeal._ Ah! downright _English_:--Oh, oh, oh, oh!

_Enter Sir _Francis Gripe_, _Mirand_, _Patch_, _Scentwell_, and _Whisper_._

Sir _Fran._ Into the House of Joy we Enter without knocking: Ha! I think 'tis the House of Sorrow, Sir _Jealous_.

Sir _Jeal._ Oh Sir _Francis!_ are you come? What was this your Contrivance, to abuse, trick, and chouse me of my Child!

Sir _Fran._ My Contrivance! what do you mean?

Sir _Jeal._ No, you don't know your Son there in _Spanish_ Habit.

Sir _Fran._ How! my Son in _Spanish_ Habit. Sirrah, you'll come to be hang'd; get out of my sight, ye Dog! get out of my sight.

Sir _Jeal._ Get out of your sight, Sir! Get out with your Bags; let's see what you'll give him now to maintain my Daughter on.

Sir _Fran._ Give him! He shall be never the better for a Penny of mine--and you might have look'd after your Daughter better, Sir _Jealous_. Trick'd, quotha! Egad, I think you design'd to trick me: But look ye, Gentlemen, I believe I shall trick you both. This Lady is my Wife, do you see? And my Estate shall descend only to the Heirs of her Body.

Sir _Geo._ Lawfully begotten by me--I shall be extremely oblig'd to you, Sir _Francis_.

Sir _Fran._ Ha, ha, ha, ha, poor Sir _George!_ You see your Project was of no use. Does not your Hundred Pound stick in your Stomach? Ha, ha, ha.

Sir _Geo._ No faith, Sir _Francis_, this Lady has given me a Cordial for that.

(_Takes her by the Hand._