_Ant_. Mine will be glad of the Change; and, for yours, if he be not pleased, let him keep his Portion to himself--that’s the greatest mischief he can do us: and for my Friend, the Governor, he’s above their Anger. _Cla_. Why do we lose precious time? I long to be at--I _Clara_ take thee _Antonio_,--the very Ceremony will be tedious, so much I wish thee mine; and each delay gives me a fear something will snatch me from thee. _Ant_. No power of Man can do’t, thou art so guarded; but now the Priest is employed in clapping up the honourable Marriage between the False Count and Isabella. _Jac_. Lord, what a jest ‘twill be to see ‘em coupled, ha, ha. _Cla_. Unmerciful _Antonio_, to drive the Jest so far; ‘tis too unconscionable! _Ant_. By Heaven, I’m so proud I cannot think my Revenge sufficient for Affronts, nor does her Birth, her Breeding and her Vanity--deserve a better Fortune; besides,--he has enough to set up for a modern Spark-- the Fool has just Wit and good Manners to pass for a Fop of Fashion; and, where he is not known, will gain the Reputation of a fine accomplish’d Gentleman,--yet I’m resolved she shall see him in his Geers, in his original Filthiness, that my Revenge may be home upon the foolish Jilt. _Cla_. Cruel _Antonio_, come, lets go give ‘em Joy. _Ant_. And finish our Affair with Mr. Vicar. _Enter_ Isabella, _her Train borne by the great_ Page, Guiliom, _with the other great_ Page, _and_ Francisco _bare_. --Joy to my noble Lord, and you, fair _Isabella_! _Isa_. Thank thee, Fellow,--but, surely, I deserved my Titles from thee. _Cla_. Your Honour I hope will pardon him. _Isa_. How now, _Clara_! [_Nodding to her_. _Jac_. I give your Honour joy. _Isa_. Thank thee, poor Creature.-- _Fran_. My Lord, this Honour you have done my Daughter is so signal, that whereas I designed her but five thousand Pound, I will this happy day settle on her ten. _Guil_. Damn dirty trash, your Beauty is sufficient--hum --Signior Don _Antonio_, get the Writings ready. [_Aside_. Money--hang Money. _Fran_. How generous these Lords are; nay, my Lord, you must not refuse a Father’s Love, if I may presume to call you Son--I shall find enough besides for my Ransom, if the Tyrant be so unmerciful to ask more than my Wife pays him. _Guil_. Nay, if you will force it upon me. _Isa_. Ay, take it, the trifling sum will serve to buy our Honour Pins. _Ant_. Well, Sir, since you will force it on him, my Cashier shall draw the Writings. _Guil_. And have ‘em signed by a publick Notary. [_Aside_. _Fran_. With all my Soul, Sir, I’ll go to give him order, and subscribe. [_Ex_. Francisco. _Guil_. Let him make ‘em strong and sure--you shall go halves. [_Aside_. _Ant_. No, you will deserve it dearly, who have the plague of such a Wife with it;--but harkye, Count--these goods of Fortune are not to be afforded you, without Conditions.