Theo. Indeed ye have; 'tis the fair Leocadia
Daughter unto Don Zanchio, our noble neighbor.
Phil. Nay?
Theo. 'Tis she Sir, o' my credit.
Phil. Leocadia,
Pish Leocadia, it must not be.
Theo. It must be, or be nothing.
Phil. Pray give me leave to wonder, Leocadia?
Theo. The very same.
Phil. The Damsel Leocadia
I ghest it was a woman, and a fair one
I see it through her shape, transparent plain
But that it should be she; tell me directly.
Theo. By heavens 'tis she.
Phil. By heaven then 'tis a sweet one.