[_Goes to whisper him, and gives Julia the Letter over his Shoulder_.
_Fran_. Is he so, pray tell him he need not take that pains; there's no occasion for't; besides 'twill be but in vain; for the Doctors have prescribed her Silence and Loneliness, 'tis good against the Fit; how this damn'd Fellow of a Rival torments me! honest Friend, adieu.
_Guz_. Now is this Fellow so afraid of being made a Cuckold that he fears his own Shadow, and dares not go into his Wife's Chamber if the Sun do but shine into the room-- [_Ex_. Guz.
_Fran_. So, your Mercury's gone; Lord, how simply you look now, as if you knew nothing of the matter!
_Jul_. Matter! what matter? I heard the civil Message the Governor sent, and the uncivil Answer you return'd back.
_Fran_. Very good; did that grieve your heart? alas, what pity 'twas I carried you not in my hand, presented you to him my self, and beg'd him to favour me so much to do my office a little for me, or the like; hah,--
_Jul_. And there's need enough, and the truth were known.
_Jac_. Well said, Madam.
_Fran_. Peace, thou wicked Limb of _Satan_--but for you, Gentlewoman, since you are so tarmagant, that your own natural Husband cannot please you, who, though I say it, am as quiet a Bed-fellow, and sleep as sweetly, for one of my years, as any in _Spain_--I'll keep you to hard meat, i'faith.
_Jul_. I find no fault with your sleeping, 'tis the best quality you have a-bed.
_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_.
_Jac_. Who, I, Sir? No, no, I am for marrying her out of hand to any reasonable Husband, except a Merchant; for Maids will long, and that's _Probatum est_ against the prevailing distemper of Longing. Hitherto I dare answer for her, but Batteries will be made, and I dare not be always responsible for frail Mortality.
_Fran_. Well, I have provided her one that I like, but if she be so squeamish, let her fast, with a Murrain to her.
_Isa_. Dear Father.
_Fran_. Dear me no Dears: wou'd your old Mother were alive, she wou'd have strapt your Just-au-corps, for puleing after Cavaliers and Nobleman, i'faith, that wou'd she; a Citizen's Daughter, and would be a _Madona_--in good time.
_Isa. Why, Father, the Gentry and Nobility now-a-days frequently marry Citizens Daughters.
_Fran_. Come, come, Mistress, I got by the City, and I love and honour the City; I confess 'tis the Fashion now-a-days, if a Citizen get but a little Money, one goes to building Houses, and brick Walls; another must buy an Office for his Son, a third hoists up his Daughter's Topsail, and flaunts it away, much above her breeding; and these things make so many break, and cause the decay of Trading: but I am for the honest _Dutch_ way of breeding their Children, according to their Fathers Calling.
_Isa_. That's very hard, because you are a laborious, ill-bred Tradesman, I must be bound to be a mean Citizen's Wife.
_Fran_. Why, what are you better than I, forsooth, that you must be a Lady, and have your Petticoats lac'd four Stories high; wear your false Towers, and cool your self with your _Spanish_ Fan? Come, come, Baggage, wear me your best Clothes a Sunday, and brush 'em up a Monday Mornings, and follow your Needle all the Week after; that was your good old Mother's way, and your Grandmother's before her; and as for the Husband, take no care about it, I have designed it _Antonio_, and _Antonio_ you are like to wed, or beat the hoof, Gentlewoman, or turn poor _Clare_, and die a begging Nun, and there's an end on't--see where he comes--I'll leave you to ponder upon the business.
[_Exit_.]
_Enter_ Antonio. Isabella _weeps_.
_Ant_. What, in Tears, _Isabella?_ what is't can force that tribute from your Eyes?
_Isa_. A Trifle, hardly worth the naming, your self.--
_Ant_. Do I? pray, for what Sin of mine must your fair Eyes be punish'd?
_Isa_. For the Sin of your odious Addresses to me, I have told you my mind often enough, methinks your Equals should be fitter for you, and sute more with your Plebeian Humour.
_Ant_. My Equals! 'Tis true, you are fair; but if there be any Inequality in our births, the advantage is on my side.
_Isa_. Saucy Impertinent, you shew your City breeding; you understand what's due to Ladys! you understand your Pen and Ink, how to count your dirty Money, trudge to and fro chaffering of base commodities, and cozening those you deal with, till you sweat and stink again like an o'er heated Cook, faugh, I smell him hither.
_Ant_. I must confess I am not perfum'd as you are, to stifle Stinks you commonly have by Nature; but I have wholesom, cleanly Linen on; and for my Habit wore I but a Sword, I see no difference between your Don and me, only, perhaps, he knows less how to use it.
_Isa_. Ah, name not a Don, the very sound from the Mouth of a little Cit is disagreeable--Bargain and Sale, Bills, Money, Traffick, Trade, are words become you better.