Pedro. Good morrow, Sister. Pray, when saw you your Lover Don _Vincentio?_ 12 Flor. I know not, Sir—_Callis_, when was he here? for I consider it so little, I know not when it was. Pedro. I have a Command from my Father here to tell you, you ought not to despise him, a Man of so vast a Fortune, and such a Passion for you—_Stephano_, my things— [Puts on his Masquing Habit. Flor. A Passion for me! ’tis more than e’er I saw, or had a desire should be known—I hate _Vincentio_, and I would not have a Man so dear to me as my Brother follow the ill Customs of our Country, and make a Slave of his Sister—And Sir, my Father’s Will, I’m sure, you may divert. Pedro. I know not how dear I am to you, but I wish only to be rank’d in your Esteem, equal with the _English_ Colonel _Belvile_—Why do you frown and blush? Is there any Guilt belongs to the Name of that Cavalier? Flor. I’ll not deny I value _Belvile_: when I was expos’d to such Dangers as the licens’d Lust of common Soldiers threatned, when Rage and Conquest flew thro the City—then _Belvile_, this Criminal for my sake, threw himself into all Dangers to save my Honour, and will you not allow him my Esteem? Pedro. Yes, pay him what you will in Honour—but you must consider Don _Vincentio’s_ Fortune, and the Jointure he’ll make you. Flor. Let him consider my Youth, Beauty and Fortune; which ought not to be thrown away on his Age and Jointure. Pedro. ’Tis true, he’s not so young and fine a Gentleman as that _Belvile_—but what Jewels will that Cavalier present you with? those of his Eyes and Heart? Hell. And are not those better than any Don _Vincentio_ has brought from the _Indies?_ Pedro. Why how now! Has your Nunnery-breeding taught you to understand the Value of Hearts and Eyes? Hell. Better than to believe _Vincentio_ deserves Value 13 from any woman—He may perhaps encrease her Bags, but not her Family. Pedro. This is fine—Go up to your Devotion, you are not design’d for the Conversation of Lovers. Hell. Nor Saints yet a while I hope. [Aside.] Is’t not enough you make a Nun of me, but you must cast my Sister away too, exposing her to a worse confinement than a religious Life? Pedro. The Girl’s mad—Is it a Confinement to be carry’d into the Country, to an antient Villa belonging to the Family of the _Vincentio’s_ these five hundred Years, and have no other Prospect than that pleasing one of seeing all her own that meets her Eyes—a fine Air, large Fields and Gardens, where she may walk and gather Flowers? Hell. When? By Moon-Light? For I’m sure she dares not encounter with the heat of the Sun; that were a Task only for Don _Vincentio_ and his _Indian_ Breeding, who loves it in the Dog-days—And if these be her daily Divertisements, what are those of the Night? to lie in a wide Moth-eaten Bed-Chamber with Furniture in Fashion in the Reign of King _Sancho_ the First; the Bed that which his Forefathers liv’d and dy’d in. Pedro. Very well.