Isa. How, a Lord! oh, heavens! Jacinta, my Fan, and set my Hair in order, oh, the Gods! I would not but see a Lord for all the World! how my Heart beats already—keep your Distance behind, Jacinta,—bless me, how I tremble—a little farther, Jacinta.
Fran. Come, come, Huswife, you shall be married anon, and then let your Husband have the plague of you—but for my Gentlewoman,—Oh Lord —they’re here.
Enter Guiliom, Carlos, and Pages, &c.
Gull. How now, Fellow, where’s this old Don Francisco?
Fran. I’m the Person, Sir.
Isa. Heavens, what an Air he has!
Guil. Art thou he? Old Lad, how dost thou do? Hah!
Fran. I don’t know.
Guil. Thou knowest me not it seems, old Fellow, hah!
Fran. Know you—no, nor desire to do,—on what acquaintance, pray?