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Jul. I have not yet, indeed, at full possess’d

My Father, whom it is my Service follows;

But only that I have a Wife in Chase.

D. Bern. Chase! — Let Chase alone: No Matter for That.— You may halt after her, whom you profess to pursue, and catch her too; Marry, not unless your Father let you slip. — Briefly, I desire you, (for she tells me, my Instructions shall be both Eyes and Feet to her;) no farther to insist in your Requiring, ’till, as I have formerly said, Camillo make known to Me, that his good Liking goes along with Us; which but once breath’d, all is done; ’till when, the Business has no Life, and cannot find a Beginning.

Jul. Sir, I will know his Mind, e’er I taste Sleep:

At Morn, you shall be learn’d in his Desire.

I take my Leave. — O virtuous Leonora,

Repose, sweet as thy Beauties, seal thy Eyes;

Once more, adieu. I have thy Promise, Love;

Remember, and be faithful. [Ex. Julio.

D. Bern. His Father is as unsettled, as he is wayward, in his Disposition. If I thought young Julio’s Temper were not mended by the Mettal of his Mother, I should be something crazy in giving my Consent to this Match: And, to tell you true, if my Eyes might be the Directors to your Mind, I could in this Town look upon Twenty Men of more delicate Choice. I speak not This altogether to unbend your Affections to him: But the Meaning of what I say is, that you set such Price upon yourself to him, as Many, and much his Betters, would buy you at; (and reckon those Virtues in you at the rate of their Scarcity;) to which if he come not up, you remain for a better Mart.

Leon. My Obedience, Sir, is chain’d to your Advice.

D. Bern. ’Tis well said, and wisely. I fear, your Lover is a little Folly-tainted; which, shortly after it proves so, you will repent.

Leon. Sir, I confess, I approve him of all the Men I know; but that Approbation is nothing, ’till season’d by your Consent.

D. Bern. We shall hear soon what his Father will do, and so proceed accordingly. I have no great Heart to the Business, neither will I with any Violence oppose it: But leave it to that Power which rules in these Conjunctions, and there’s an End. Come; haste We homeward, Girl. [Exeunt.

Scene III.

Enter Henriquez, and Servants with Lights.

Henr. Bear the Lights close: — Where is the Musick, Sirs?

Serv. Coming, my Lord.

Henr. Let ’em not come too near. This Maid,

For whom my Sighs ride on the Night’s chill Vapour,

Is born most humbly, tho’ she be as fair

As Nature’s richest Mould and Skill can make her,

Mended with strong Imagination.

But what of That? Th’ Obscureness of her Birth

Cannot eclipse the Lustre of her Eyes,

Which make her all One Light.— Strike up, my Masters;

But touch the Strings with a religious Softness;

Teach Sound to languish thro’ the Night’s dull Ear,

’Till Melancholy start from her lazy Couch,

And Carelessness grow Convert to Attention.

[Musick plays.

She drives me into Wonder, when I sometimes

Hear her discourse; The Court, whereof Report,

And Guess alone inform her, she will rave at,

As if she there sev’n Reigns had slander’d Time.

Then, when she reasons on her Country State,

Health, Virtue, Plainness, and Simplicity,

On Beauties true in Title, scorning Art,

Freedom as well to do, as think, what’s good;

My Heart grows sick of Birth and empty Rank,

And I become a Villager in Wish.

Play on; — She sleeps too sound: — Be still, and vanish:

A Gleam of Day breaks sudden from her Window:

O Taper, graced by that midnight Hand!

Violante appears above at her Window.

Viol. Who is’t, that wooes at this late Hour? What are you?

Henr. One, who for your dear Sake —

Viol.Watches the starless Night!

My Lord Henriquez, or my Ear deceives me.

You’ve had my Answer, and ’tis more than strange

You’ll combat these Repulses. Good my Lord,

Be Friend to your own Health; and give me Leave,

Securing my poor Fame, nothing to pity

What Pangs you swear you suffer. ’Tis impossible

To plant your choice Affections in my Shade,