_Leo._ Look you, _Isabella_, 'tis entirely alike to me, who he's fond of; but I'm so much your Friend, I can't endure to see you deceiv'd. _Isab._ And since I have the same Kindness for you, _Leonora_, know, in short, that my Brother is so alarm'd at his Passion for me, that he has forbid him the Street. _Leo._ Bless my Soul! and don't you plainly see by that, he's jealous of him upon my Account? _Isa._ [_Smiling._] He's jealous of his Honour, Madam, lest he shou'd debauch his Sister. _Leo._ I say, he's jealous of his Love, lest he shou'd corrupt his Mistress. _Isab._ But why all this Heat? If you love my Brother, why are you concern'd Don _John_ shou'd love me? _Leo._ I'm not concern'd: I have no Designs upon him; I care not who he loves. _Isab._ Why then are you angry? _Leo._ Why do you say he does not care for me! _Isab._ Well, to content you then, I know nothing certain, but that I love him. _Leo._ And to content you; I know nothing so certain, as that I neither love him, nor ever can love him: And so I hope we are Friends again. _Isab._ Kiss me, then, and let us never be otherwise. _Leo._ Agreed: [_They kiss._] And now, my Dear, as my Misfortune's nearest, I am first to be pity'd; I am the most wretched Woman living. My Father every Moment expects a Gentleman from _Flanders_, to whom he has resolv'd to marry me. But neither Duty, nor Prudence, nor Danger, nor Resolution, nor all I can summon to my Aid, can drive your Brother from my Heart; but there he's fix'd to ruin me. _Jacin._ Madam, here's Don _Guzman_ at the Chamber-Door; he begs so passionately to come in, sure you can't refuse him. _Leo._ Heav'ns! But does he consider to what he exposes me? _Jacin._ Madam, he considers nothing; if he did, I'd say he were an impudent Fellow, to pretend to be in Love with you. _Leo._ Shall I venture, _Isabella_? _Isab._ You know best. _Enter Don ~Guzman~._ _Jacin._ Marry, methinks he knows best of us all, for here he comes. Don _Guz._ Forgive me, lovely _Leonora_; 'tis the last Time, perhaps, that I may beg your Pity. My Rival is not far off: Excess of Modesty is now our Ruin. Break through it, for this Moment you have left, and own, to your old Father, how you love. He once did so himself; our Scene of Sorrow may, perhaps, recall some small Remembrance of his tender Years, and melt him into Mercy. _Leo._ Alas! Don _Guzman_---- _Jacin._ O Heavens! Madam---- _Leo._ What's the Matter? _Jacin._ Y' are undone; here's your Father. _Isab._ What an unlucky Accident! _Leo._ Has he seen Don _Guzman_? _Jacin._ Nay, the deuce knows. _Isab._ Where shall he hide himself? _Jacin._ In the Moon, if he can get thither. _Enter Don ~Felix~._ Don _Guz._ I must e'en stand it now. Don _Fel._ Good News, my Daughter, good News; I come to acquaint you, that----How now? What's the Meaning of this? Don _Guzman_ in my Daughter's Chamber!