Alon. _Lovis!_ Lov. _Alonzo?_ Alon. The same, where hast thou been? Lov. In search of you this two Hours. Alon. O, I have been taken up with new Adventures, since I saw thee; but prithee what became of thine? for methought it was a likely Woman. Lov. Faith, Sir, I thought I had got a Prize; but a Pox on’t, when I came into the Street, e’er she had recover’d Breath to tell me who she was, the Cavalier you rescu’d from _Marcel_, laid claim to her; thank’d me for her Preservation, and vanisht. I hope you had better luck with your Female, whose Face I had not the good fortune to see. Alon. Not so good as I could have wisht, for she stands still on her honourable terms. Lov. Of Matrimony, ha, ha, a very Jilt, I’ll warrant her; Come, come, you shall see her no more. Alon. Faith, I fear I must. Lov. To what purpose? Alon. To persuade her to Reason. Lov. That you’ll soon do, when she finds you will not bite at t’other Bait. Alon. The worst is, if I see her again, it must be at her Father’s House; and so transform’d from Man to Beast—I must appear like a ridiculous Lover she expects out of _Flanders_. 261 Lov. A very Cheat, a trick to draw thee in: be wise in time. Alon. No, on my Conscience she’s in earnest, she told me her Name, and his I am to represent. Lov. What is’t, I pray? Alon. _Haunce van Ezel._ Lov. Hah! her Name too, I beseech you? [Impatiently. Alon. _Euphemia_: And such a Creature ’tis— Lov. ’Sdeath, my Sister all this while: This has call’d up all that’s Spaniard in me, and makes me raging mad. [Aside.] But do you love her, Sir? Alon. Most desperately, beyond all Sense or Reason. Lov. And could you be content to marry her? Alon. Any thing but that —But thou know’st my ingagement elsewhere; and I have hopes that yet she’ll be wise, and yield on more pleasant terms. Lov. I could be angry now; but ’twere unreasonable to blame him for this. [Aside.] Sir, I believe by your Treatment from _Ambrosio_ and _Marcel_, you may come off there easily. Alon. That will not satisfy my Honour, tho ’twill my Love; that I have not _Hippolyta_, I will owe to my own Inconstancy, not theirs: besides, this may be a Cheat, as you say. Lov. But does _Euphemia_ love you? Alon. Faith, I think she has too much Wit to dissemble, and too much Beauty to need that Art. Lov. Then you must marry her. Alon. Not if I can avoid it. Lov. I know this Lady, Sir, and know her to be worth your Love: I have it in my Power too, to serve you, if you proceed suddenly, which you must do, or lose her; for this _Flandrian_ Boor your Rival is already arriv’d, and designs to morrow to make his first Address to _Euphemia_. Alon. Oh, he must not, shall not see her. Lov. How will you hinder him? Alon. With this. [To his Sword.] Where is this Rival? 262 tell me: Conduct me to him strait; I find my Love above the common rate, and cannot brook this Rival.