_Guil_. Shaw, Conditions, any Conditions, noble _Antonio_. _Ant_. You must disrobe anon, and do’n your native Habiliments--and in the Equipage give that fair Viscountess to understand the true quality of her Husband. _Guil_. Hum--I’m afraid, ‘tis a harder task to leap from a Lord to a Rogue, than ‘tis from a Rogue to a Lord. _Ant_. Not at all, we have examples of both daily. _Guil_. Well, Sir, I’ll show you my agility--but, Sir, I desire I may consummate, d’ye see,--consummate--a little like a Lord, to make the Marriage sure. _Ant_. You have the Freedom to do so--the Writings I’ll provide. _Guil_. I’ll about it then, the Priest waits within for you, and _Guzman_ for you, _Jacinta_,--haste, for he is to arrive anon Ambassador from _Cadiz_. _Jac_. I know not, this noise of Weddings has set me agog, and I’ll e’en in, and try what ‘tis. [_Ex_. Antonio, Clara, _and_ Jacinta. _Guil_. Come, Madam, your Honour and I have something else to do, before I have fully dub’d you a Viscountess. _Isa_. Ah, Heav’ns, what’s that? _Guil_. Why a certain Ceremony, which must be performed between a pair of Sheets,--but we’ll let it alone till Night. _Isa_. Till Night, no; whate’er it be, I wou’d not be without an Inch of that Ceremony, that may compleat my Honour for the World; no, for Heaven’s sake, let’s retire, and dub me presently. _Guil_. Time enough, time enough. _Isa_. You love me not, that can deny me this. _Guil_. Love--no, we are married now, and People of our Quality never Love after Marriage; ‘tis not great. _Isa_. Nay, let’s retire, and compleat my Quality, and you will find me a Wife of the Mode, I’ll warrant you. _Guil_. For once you have prevail’d. _Enter_ Francisco. _Fran_. Whither away? _Isa_. Only to consummate a little, pray keep your distance. [_She pulls off his hat_. _Fran_. Consummate! _Isa_. Ay, Sir, that is to make me an absolute Viscountess--we cannot stay--farewel. [Guiliom _leads her out_. _Fran_. Hum--this _Turkey_ Air has a notable faculty, where the Women are all plaguy kind. _Enter_ Carlos _and_ Julia. _Car_. By Heav’n, each Moment makes me more your Slave. _Fran_. The Business is done. _Jul_. My Husband! [_Aside_. _Car_. And all this constant love to old _Francisco_ has but engaged me more. _Fran_. Ha, Love to me? [_Aside_. _Jul_. Sir, if this Virtue be but real in you, how happy I shou’d be; but you’ll relapse again, and tempt my virtue, which if you do-- _Fran_. I’ll warrant she wou’d kill herself. [_Aside_. _Jul_. I should be sure to yield. [_In a soft tone to him_. _Car_. No, thou hast made an absolute Conquest o’er me--and if that Beauty tempt me every hour, I shall still be the same I was the last. _Fran_. Pray Heaven he be _John_. _Enter First_ Turk. 1st _Turk_. Most mighty Emperor, a Messenger from _Cadiz_ has Letters for your Highness.