_Mart._ Within a Day of Matrimony; it is too quick; I have not yet had sufficient Time to prepare her Mind for that solemn Sacrament. _Old Lar._ Prepare her Mind for a young Fellow; prepare your Mind for a Bishoprick. _Mart._ Sir, there are Ceremonies requisite, I shall be as expeditious as possible, but the Church has Rules. _Old Lar._ Sir, you may be as expeditious or as slow as you please, but I will not have my Boy disappointed of his Happiness one Day, for all the Rules in _Europe_. SCENE V. Martin, Isabel. _Mart._ I shall bring this Haughtiness to a Penance, you may not like. Well, my dear Daughter, I hope your Account is not long. You have not many Articles since our last Reckoning. _Isa._ I wish you do not think it so, Father. First, telling nine Lyes at the Opera the other Night to Mr. _Laroon_; yesterday talk'd during the whole Mass to a young Cavalier, [_he groans._] Nay, if you groan already, I shall make you groan more before I have done; last Night cheated at Cards, scandalized three of my Acquaintance, went to Bed without saying my Prayers, and dreamt of Mr. _Laroon_. _Mart._ Oh!--Tell me the Particulars of that Dream. _Isa._ Nay, Father, that I must be excus'd. _Mart._ Modesty at Confession is as unseasonable as in Bed, and your Mind should appear as naked to your Confessor, as your Person to your Husband. _Isa._ I thought he embraced me with the utmost Tenderness. _Mart._ But were you pleased therewith? _Isa._ You know, Father, a Lye now would be the greatest of Sins. I was not displeased I assure you. But I have often heard you say, there is no Sin in Love. _Mart._ No, in Love it self there is not: Love is not _Malum in se_. Nor in the Excess is there sometimes any: but then it must be rightly placed, must be directed to a proper Object. The Love a Daughter bears her Confessor is no doubt not only innocent, but extremely laudable. _Isa._ Yes, but that--that is another sort of Love, you know. _Mart._ You are deceived, there is but one sort of Love which is justifiable, or, indeed, desirable. _Isa._ I hope my Love for _Laroon_ is that. _Mart._ That I know not, I wish it may; however, I have some Dispute as yet remaining with me concerning it; 'till that be satisfied, it will be improper for you to proceed any farther in the Affair. All the Penance, therefore, I shall enjoin you on this Confession, is to defer your Marriage one Week; by which time I shall have resolved within my self whether you shall marry him at all. _Isa._ Not marry him at all? Sure, Father, you are not in earnest. _Mart._ I never jest on these Occasions. _Isa._ What Reason can you have? _Mart._ My Reasons may not be so ripe for your Ears at present. But, perhaps, better things are designed for you. _Isa._ A Fidlestick! I tell you, Father, better things cannot be designed for me. I suppose, you have found out some old Fellow with twenty Livres a Year more in his Power; but I can assure you, if I marry not _Laroon_, I'll not marry any.