Sir _Jeal._ To morrow rids you of this tiresome Load,--_Don Diego Babinetto_ will be here, and then my Care ends and his begins. _Isab._ Is he come then! Oh how shall I avoid this hated Marriage? (_Aside._ _Enter Servants with Supper._ Sir _Jeal._ Come will you sit down? _Isab._ I can't eat, Sir. _Patch._ No, I dare swear he has given her Supper enough. I wish I cou'd get into the Closet-- (_Aside._ 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._