230 Alon. That’s foul Play, _Lovis_. Alon. Well, I must have but one, and therefore I’ll wink and chuse. Lo. I’ll not trust blind Fortune. Alon. Prithee, _Lovis_, let thee and I agree upon the matter, and I find the Lady will be reasonable; cross or pile who shall go. Lo. Go, Sir, whither? Alon. To the Lady that— Lo. Sent for neither of us that I can hear of yet. Alon. You will not hear me out, but I’ll end the Difference by chusing you, Sir; and if you’ll follow me [To _Alonzo_.] at a Distance, I will conduct you where this Lady is. Alon. Fair Guide, march on, I’ll follow thee. [Offers to go. Lo. You are not mad, Sir, ’tis some abuse, and dangerous. [Pulls him back. Alon. Be not envious of my Happiness: Forbear a Wench, for fear of Danger! Lo. Have a care, ’tis some Plot. [Holds him.] Where did this Lady see us? we are both Strangers in the City. Alon. No matter where. Olin. At Church, Sir, just now. Alon. Ay, ay, at Church, at Church, enough. Lo. What’s her Name? Alon. Away, thou art fuller of Questions than a Fortune-teller: Come, let’s be gone. Lo. Sure you do not mean to keep your Word, Sir? Alon. Not keep my Word, _Lovis?_ What wicked Life hast thou known me lead, should make thee suspect I should not? When I have made an Interest in her, and find her worth communicating, I will be just upon Honour—Go, go. Lo. Well, go your ways; if Marriage do not tame you, you are past all Hopes: but pray, Sir, let me see you at my Lodgings, the _Golden Fleece_ here at the Gate. 231 Alon. I’ll attend thee here, and tell thee my Adventure: Farewel. [Exit _Lovis_.] _Pedro_, go you and inquire for the House of Don _Ambrosio_, and tell him I will wait on him in the Evening, by that time I shall get my self in Order. [Ex. _Alonzo_ and _Olinda_; _Pedro_ the other way. Scene II. _Ambrosio’s_ House. Enter _Silvio_, melancholy. Silv. I must remove _Marcel_, for his nice Honour Will ne’er permit that I should court my Sister; My Passion will admit of no Restraint, ’Tis grown so violent; and fair _Cleonte’s_ Charms Each Day increase to such a killing Number, That I must speak or die. Enter _Francisca_. Franc. What, still with folded Arms and down-cast looks? Silv. Oh _Francisca!_ My Brother’s Presence now afflicts me more Than all my Fears of Cruelty from _Cleonte_; She is the best, the sweetest, kindest Sister— Franc. Ay, Sir, but she will never make the kindest Mistress. Silv. At least she should permit me to adore her, Were but _Marcel_ away. Hast thou no Stratagem to get him absent? For I can think of nothing but my Sister. [Sighs. Franc. I know of one, nor other Remedy for you than loving less.