Isa. Oh Heavens! and shall I be no Viscountess?
Guil. Not for me, fair Lady, by Jupiter,—no, no,—Queen’s much better,—Death, affront a man of Honour, a Viscount that wou’d have took you to his Bed,—after half the Town had blown upon you,—without examining either Portion or Honesty, and wou’d have took you for better for worse—Death, I’ll untile Houses, and demolish Chimneys, but I’ll be revenged. [Draws and is going out.
Isa. Ah, hold! your Anger’s just, I must confess: yet pardon the frailty of my Sex’s vanity; behold my Tears that sue for pity to you.
[She weeps, he stands looking on her.
Guil. My rage dissolves.
Isa. I ask but Death, or Pity. [He weeps.
Guil. I cannot hold;—but if I shou’d forgive, and marry you, you wou’d be gadding after honour still, longing to be a she Great Turk again.
Isa. Break not my heart with such suspicions of me.
Gull. And is it pure and tender Love for my Person, And not for my glorious Titles?
Isa. Name not your Titles, ‘tis your self I love,
Your amiable, sweet and charming self,
And I cou’d almost wish you were not great,
To let you see my Love.