Mr. Aw'dw. Well said Geographer.
Mar. No, no, it must be some where in Italy. Peace! They are coming.
Enter Fastin, and Isabella attended.
Attendance, don't tread upon their Backs, keep at an awful Distance there; so upon my Train! Ah thou Blockhead, thou art as fit for a Throne, as a Stage.
Fas. Shall I speak, Madam.
Mar. Ay, dear Mr. Powell, soon as you please.
Fas. Wellcome, dear Isabella, to this peaceful Seat of all my Father's Mansions, this is his Choice, this surrounded by these melancholly Groves, it suits his Philosophick Temper best; yet Fame reports, he has so long given his—Studies truce, as to wed a Young and beauteous Bride.
Mr. Prais. Why, Madam, had my Lady Loveall never seen this Spark?
Mar. No, no; but she had heard of him, and that's all one.—Don't ask a Question just when People are a speaking, good Mr. Praiseall.
Mr. Prais. I beg your Pardon.