Fran. How, a Count to speak with me! with me, I say,—here at Cadiz.
Lop. A Count, Sir, and to speak with you.
Fran. Art sure ‘tis not the Governor?—I’ll go lock up my Wife.
Lop. Governor, Sir! No, no, ‘tis a mere Stranger, Sir, a rare Count whom I never saw all days of my life before.
Fran. And with me wou’d he speak? I hope he comes not to my Wife.
Enter Julia.
Jul. Oh Husband, the delicatest fine Person of Quality, just alighted at the Door, Husband.
Fran. What, have you seen him then? the Devil’s in these Women, and there be but a Loop-hole to peep out of they’ll spy a man,—I’m resolved to see this thing,—go, retire, you Women, here’s Men coming up.
Isa. And will Men eat us?
Fran. No, but they may do worse, they may look on ye, and Looking breeds Liking; and Liking, Love; and Love a damn’d thing, call’d Desire; and Desire begets the Devil and all of Mischief to young Wenches—Get ye gone in, I say—here’s a Lord coming—and Lords are plaguy things to Women.