Enter Isabella looking in a Glass, and seeing her Face.
Isa. Ah, Heavens, those Eyes—that Look,—that pretty Leer,—that my Father shou’d be so doating an old Fool to think these Beauties fit for a little Merchandize; a Marchioness wou’d so much better become me. [Looks again. —Ah, what a Smile’s there—and then that scornful Look—’tis great— Heavens, who’s here? [Sees them.
Cla. Only those Friends that wish you better Fortune than this day promises.
Jac. Look on that Face; are there not Lines that foretel a world of Greatness, and promise much Honour?
Cla. Her Face, her Shape, her Mein, her every part declares her Lady—or something more.
Isa. Why, so, and yet this little Creature of a Father, ridiculously and unambitious, would spoil this Lady, to make up a simple Citizen’s Wife—in good time.
Jac. That very look had some presaging Grandeur.
Isa. Do you think so, Jacinta? Ha, ha, ha.
Jac. That Laugh again, oh Heavens, how it charms!
Cla. And how graceful ‘tis!