Burr. Where are you, madam?
Isa. Immediately, Sir Timorous.
Fail. You are mistaken, madam; 'tis not Sir Timorous, but Burr in his clothes; he has stripped the knight, gagged him, and locked him up.
Isa. Failer?
Fail. The same. I could not but prevent your unhappiness, though I hazard my person in the discovery, I vow to gad, madam.
Burr. Who's that talks to you, my lady Constance?
Isa. A maid of my acquaintance, that's come to take her leave of me before I marry; the poor soul does so pity me.
Burr. How will that maid lie, thinking of you and me to-night!
Isa. Has he the key about him? [To FAILER.
Fail. I think so, madam.