Duen. Come, sir, here's a chair.
Isaac. Madam, the greatness of your goodness overpowers me—that a lady so lovely should deign to turn her beauteous eyes on me so.
[She takes his hand, he turns and sees her.]
Duen. You seem surprised at my condescension.
Isaac. Why, yes, madam, I am a little surprised at it.—[Aside.] Zounds! this can never be Louisa—she's as old as my mother!
Duen. But former prepossessions give way to my father's commands.
Isaac. [Aside.] Her father! Yes, 'tis she then.—Lord, Lord; how blind some parents are!
Duen. Signor Isaac!
Isaac. [Aside.] Truly, the little damsel was right—she has rather a matronly air, indeed! ah! 'tis well my affections are fixed on her fortune, and not her person.
Duen. Signor, won't you sit? [She sits.]